


Our Bond Is Steel

by Dubstep_Strawberry



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: A Night at the Drive-In, Accidentally Arrested, Action & Romance, Ants Will Inherit The Earth... Maybe, Arranged Marriage, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Dates, Bees! - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Caught in the Rain, Ceremonies, Confrontations, Corporal Punishment, Cosy Domesticity, Crazed Cultists, Damn These Interruptions, Descent Into Hell - Freeform, Diamond City, Diplomacy, Emotional Trauma/Loss, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Heirlooms, Fear of Discovery, First Kiss, Flashbacks and Nightmares, Fluff and Angst, Freedom of the Press, Grief/Mourning, Gunboat Diplomacy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Interrogation, Justice v Vengeance, Laughably Bad Disguises, Local Politics, Love Confessions, Lovesickness, Making Out, Malicious Gossip, Mercy Killing, Mercy/Forgiveness, Military Enlistment, Missions Gone Wrong, Misunderstandings, Negotiations & Treaties, Not The Spoilers!, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Armor, Prisoner of War, Public Execution, Recovery, Relationship Advice, Rescue/Escape, Retribution, Returning Home, Revenge, Second Base, Secret Relationship, Shakespeare Quotations, Slow Dancing, Sniper Battle, Snuggling, Speech Skill 100, Subterfuge, Suicide Attempt, Sunglasses At Night, Synth Discrimination, Teasing, Torture/Abuse, Unethical Experimentation, Unlikely Friendship/Empathy, Vertibird Crash, Welcome Home, Your Very Own TV Station
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 335,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7439036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dubstep_Strawberry/pseuds/Dubstep_Strawberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Institute sought to redefine mankind, Danse and the Sole Survivor both got caught in the crossfire. Together, they're trying to pick up the pieces of their past and build a new future. Their bond is stronger than steel; their loyalty runs deeper than blood. But a new menace is spreading across the Commonwealth, a desperate search for answers only seems to raise more questions, and even the ties that bind them may not be enough to hold them together. Can they survive the rise of the AntAgonizer, or will the ants inherit the Earth and trample their world underfoot?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome Home

It was another beautiful day in the apocalypse. The world had ended, but the July sun beat down on the scorched earth from a clear blue sky anyway. It was almost like nothing had happened.

 _Almost_ , thought Margot de Havilland, as she crossed the remains of the wooden footbridge and saw Sanctuary Hills rising up on the other side. _If you squint hard enough, the maple trees look like they still have leaves on them. The grass isn't dead. There are children playing, and cars in the driveways. If I close my eyes and pretend, I can almost hear Nate calling me._

It had been two hundred years since atomic bombs had fallen on Boston. Two hundred and eleven years and nine months, really, but who was counting any more? It still felt like it had happened yesterday. For Margot, it might as well have. She'd slept away the centuries deep underground in Vault 111, frozen in a cryopod. She and her family were supposed to have been safe there. But things didn't always work out the way they were supposed to.

The first house on the left had collapsed long ago; she and a few of the others had hauled away the debris and built a little indoor marketplace where weapons, armor and Pre-War salvage changed hands for bottlecaps. She wasn't sure who had first put the cap in capitalism, but worn Nuka-Cola bottlecaps were the currency nowadays. Just another thing she was trying to get used to in this brave new world.

The house on the right was dilapidated, but still standing. A settler in mud-stained jeans and an undershirt was tending a small vegetable patch with a father's loving care. He looked up and waved at her approach.

“Welcome home, General!”

General of the Minutemen. In her past life, she'd been a lawyer. Now she was a leader of men; she commanded the local volunteer militia, the Minutemen, who stood ready to protect the settlements of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts at a minute's notice, just as their predecessors had, long ago. These days she couldn't walk into an allied settlement without people either thanking her for the Minutemen's help, or begging for it.

She waved back, and continued up her progress up the street. She'd been surprised at how many of the blue and yellow prefabricated houses had survived the Great War. They'd taken a beating over the years, but they were still here, and Sanctuary Hills' new inhabitants were doing their best to return the structures to something akin to their Pre-War condition.

The blue-tiled de Havilland residence was halfway up the street, opposite the yellow house which had once belonged to Mrs. Rosa and her teenage son. The Rosas were long gone, but the house was occupied again; she could see the Minutemen's tech guy, Sturges, toiling over a workbench beneath the carport. Sparks flew from whatever he was working on. Diamond City Radio blared from a wireless radio set on the porch.

She turned left to go up the path to her house, and opened the weather-beaten orange front door.

 _Home is where you hang your hat_ , Margot thought to herself, as she took it off and hung it up on the coat stand. The hat in this case was a worn military cap – olive-drab, with a prominent red star. She'd found it in the depths of a Chinese submarine. It had been the last thing she'd expected to find when she dived into Boston Harbor one day in search of sea monsters. Life these days was certainly full of surprises.

For as long as she could remember, China had been the sworn enemy of the United States. She remembered the propaganda posters at school; the dire warnings on television and radio about the dangers of Communism; the day her father and husband had enlisted in the Armed Forces together; the war effort which had taken a dreadful toll on the nation. Most of all, she remembered the bombs which had fallen on that fateful day in October, 2077. When she'd dropped through the entrance hatch of the nuclear submarine, she'd drawn her sidearm and prepared to face the Red Menace, intent on delivering payback. But instead of finding a mortal enemy behind the bulkhead, she'd found only Captain Zao of the _Yangtze_ , an elderly Pre-War Ghoul with sagging shoulders and a face lined with sorrow.

Her thirst for vengeance had died away in an instant. The man's punishment for raining nuclear death on Boston had been two hundred years in a broken tin can under the sea, with only a skeleton crew of mindless Feral Ghouls (and, as she'd discovered to her dismay, actual, skeletons) for company. After two hundred years of regretting his part in the end of the world and mourning the crewmates who'd succumbed to radiation poisoning, all the old man had wanted to do was go home.

She'd done her best to repair the man's submarine so that he could return to his homeland and fulfill his dream of rebuilding China, house by house. He'd known without being told that things would never be the same, but something in his eyes had told her that he was determined to start again. She'd left him with some encouragement and a few parting words:

_“Zao, for what it's worth, I hope you make it home. And when you do, I know you'll do what humanity does best. Survive, rebuild, and persevere, until a new world rises from the ruins of the old one. I just hope it'll be a better world than the one we left behind.”_

He'd thanked her as she departed, and as she'd wound her way home via the new settlement at Nordhagen Beach, she'd decided that it had been good advice after all.

 _After all, that's what I'm trying to do here_ , she reminded herself. _Survive and rebuild. Stick by stick, house by house, town by town. Starting right here, in my own back yard._

“Good afternoon, mum!” trilled an English-accented voice from the kitchen. “So good to see you home at last. How was Nordhagen Beach?”

She turned to see Codsworth floating serenely in the air, appendages trailing beneath him like the tentacles of a strange steel jellyfish. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of her faithful robot butler. The chirpy little Mister Handy robot had survived the war and the passage of time with only a few dents and scratches, and she'd done her best to repair the damage to his outer casing. He looked almost as good as new. Not the bright, shiny, pristine Pre-War model he had once been... but then again, nothing was the way it had once been.

“Holding up well,” she responded, shrugging off the overcoat of her Minutemen General's uniform and hanging it up on the hook below the hat. “A few Raider attacks, but nothing they can't handle. The new defenses seem to be working well, and Preston sent some of the Minutemen over from The Castle to build an artillery unit there. We finally have some more fire support.”

“I'm sure the _Prydwen_ and the Brotherhood of Steel will be glad to hear that, mum,” Codsworth said cheerily. “I'm sure a carefree day at the beach would do the boys in steel the world of good. No more robots bothering the settlers, I trust?”

Margot shook her head.

“No, I think we've solved the robot problem. I called in on Isabel on the way home. She says the last week has been much better. She even offered to take a look at you the next time we're in the neighborhood.”

“Oh, don't you worry about me, mum,” said Codsworth, ever upbeat. “All's well on the home front. And I must say, you did a fine job seeing to my interior workings! Everything is just tickety-boo now that you've tightened up those rusty old bolts!”

“Glad to hear it, Codsworth. How is Shaun?”

“The lad was very well-behaved while you were gone, mum,” Codsworth reported. “He's been trying to pick up a working station on the old television set. Nothing so far, but I must say I'm delighted to see him taking an interest in technology. He's quite the budding engineer!”

Margot smiled again.

“And the neighbors? How is everything on the, uh, home front?”

“Doing splendidly, mum! Mr. Sturges says the crops are coming in well, and he's planning an excursion to the Red Rocket station tomorrow. He wants to check on Miss Ada and Miss Jezebel, and do some tinkering over at the robotics workstation.”

Margot nodded approvingly. The old fuel station just outside Sanctuary Hills was now home to a motley collection of settlers and robots, including Ada, the friendly Assaultron robot she'd rescued from a destroyed caravan, and an astonishingly smug Robobrain named Jezebel, whose head had been salvaged from a Rust Devil encampment. The last time she and Sturges had gone over the footbridge to visit, Jezebel had complained that the “pesky human” had interrupted her calculation of pi to the ten thousandth digit. Oddly enough, she'd taken a shine to Sturges; perhaps it was because he'd promised her a new paint job, and given her a jaunty salute and a “Yes, ma'am!” in return when she'd picked out a lurid shade of pink.

“Sounds good. What about Preston?”

“Mr. Garvey is keeping well, mum. He and Mr. Long are mending a leak in the roof of the Minutemen barracks. _Mrs._ Long is outside, helping Mama Murphy tend to the garden plots. I offered to help, but I'm afraid Mrs. Long was rather combative. In fact, she invited me to do something terribly vulgar with a rake. Public decency compelled me to decline. Nuclear fallout or not, I'd like to think that our little community still has _some_ standards.”

Margot heaved a sigh. That sounded like Marcy all right. Since the day she'd rescued the bedraggled band of Minutemen survivors from Concord and led them to the safety of Sanctuary Hills, Marcy Long had complained bitterly about everything. Crops didn't grow fast enough; patched roofs and walls looked ugly; the lights flickered during radiation storms. Even the latest attempts to get running water back to the old houses weren't progressing fast enough for her liking. Marcy's husband, Jun, had done his best to explain that she had taken their son's death very hard and lashed out at everything in response to her own grief. Margot had expressed her sympathies and gone to speak to Marcy, but when she'd told her about Shaun's kidnapping in an attempt to relate to her loss, Marcy had snapped back:

_“You wouldn't understand. At least your son's alive. Mine's dead.”_

_At least your husband's alive,_ Margot had wanted to retort at the time. _Mine's dead. Nate was murdered by those Institute bastards when he tried to stop them from taking our boy._ But she'd bitten her tongue and walked away before she could say anything she might regret. When she'd told Preston about the exchange later, he'd agreed with her refusal to take the bait.

 _“I think you were right not to say anything, General,”_ he'd said, in his usual mild tone. _“After all, grief isn't a competition. We've all lost people and things we care about. This is why we re-settled Sanctuary. We came here to regroup, rebuild, and support each other as we go.”_

Her second-in-command had been right. He always was. Preston Garvey had been a calm and compassionate voice in the wilderness from the moment she'd met him in the Museum of History; he'd gladly passed on control of the Minutemen to her at the first opportunity, but these days she looked to him for counsel just as often as he looked to her for leadership. They'd made a good team so far. The kind that could take on the world, just as they'd taken on the might of the Institute and won.

She jumped when Codsworth tapped her on the shoulder.

“Huh?”

“You were miles away, mum,” said Codsworth, very apologetically. “Sorry about that. I was about to say you must be _famished_ after your journey. How about a spot of afternoon tea? Well, coffee, anyway? As always, I regret the lack of tea. But I've put out some Fancy Lads Snack Cakes for Master Shaun, and we're expecting the others back from their little venture any time now.”

“I saved you some, Mom,” piped up Shaun, from the couch. He was sitting in the soft red cushions, showering powdered sugar everywhere as he waved the box of snack cakes in the air. The heels of his sneakers were propped up on the coffee table.

“Feet off the furniture, Master Shaun,” the robot butler reminded him firmly.

Shaun obediently swept his feet off the table, and got up to embrace his mother instead. Margot returned the hug and ruffled the boy's dark hair.

“I missed you, Shaun. I hope you were good for Codsworth while I was away. Everything all right?”

Shaun nodded, his ten-year-old face bright with happiness. That face would always be ten years old, Margot mused. After all, he wasn't the real Shaun. His namesake had turned out to be more than twice her age when she finally escaped from her cryopod and went in search of him; he'd been so ensconced in the clinical white walls and cold scientific mindset of the Institute that all her persuasion hadn't been able to bring him home. When he'd described his own father as “collateral damage” and treated his long-lost mother as nothing more than a science experiment, she'd been forced to accept that the small, sleepy infant she'd loved so fiercely was gone for good. In its place had been the man they'd called Father, who had fathered nothing but robots and distrust; an old, dying man who had signed off on some of the most monstrous breaches of scientific ethics she could ever have imagined.

But Shaun had still been her son, despite everything he'd done, and his final wish had been for her to take care of the synthetic child he'd created in his own youthful likeness. As the Minutemen stormed the underground complex and sent the Institute's scientists fleeing in terror to the surface, she'd found the boy in the relay control room. At that point she'd no longer cared how or why Shaun the Younger had been created; her only thought had been to save him and bring him home.

She'd grown to love him, she thought, as she stooped down to kiss him on the cheek. It had been difficult at first, but over the past few weeks and months, they'd grown steadily closer; she'd found it best to think of him as a different Shaun, rather than the one he'd been built to replace. He might have been a replica of the original Shaun in his youth, but it was already becoming apparent to her that the little synth was as much his own person as Nick Valentine, or Curie, or -

The front door burst open, and she jumped.

“Coming through!” announced a cheerful male voice. Its owner, a bald man in sunglasses and what appeared to be a stolen Minuteman uniform, was carrying one end of a dresser.

“Goddamn, this thing's heavy,” complained another, raspier male voice. It belonged to a Ghoul in a tricorn hat and a Revolutionary-era frock coat. He was carrying the other end of the dresser, and looked rather less happy about the arrangement than his friend. “Couldn't we have found a Brahmin to tie this thing to?”

“Just shift your arse, Hancock,” grumbled a female voice. It had a distinctive Boston-Irish lilt. “This furniture ain't gonna move itself in here.”

“Hello, Miss Cait,” Codsworth greeted the red-haired woman politely, as she heaved an office chair in through the front door. “I don't suppose you need a hand?”

“Thanks, Codsey, but I've got this,” she replied. “You're a gent for askin', though. Not like those blighted arsefaces in front of me, makin' me carry this crap halfway across the Commonwealth.”

The bald man pulled a face.

“Blighted? Really? I'm hurt, Cait. Truly.”

“Oh, pssh,” Cait scoffed, as she slammed down the chair. Margot winced a little; there was already far too little left of the vinyl flooring. “Go on, Deacon. You know I'm only jokin'. You can take a joke now, can't ya?”

Deacon's semi-permanent grin snapped back into place like a rubber band.

“Ah, hell. I can't stay mad at that face. Who could?”

He winked at Cait. Cait did her best to look unimpressed, but eventually a smirk broke through the façade.

“You're all right, Deacon. Look, you and Hancock drop that piece of junk somewhere and then go see about helpin' Piper. She's been strugglin' with that desk for over a mile now, and MacCready looks like he's about to bust a rib over that damn file cabinet.”

“Do let me assist you,” pleaded Codsworth, as Deacon and Hancock edged past him with the dresser. “I don't want any injuries over a few sticks of furniture. I'm sure mum wouldn't want that - would you, mum?”

Margot shook her head, both in agreement and in wonderment. She'd asked her friends to keep an eye out for spare furniture for the house, now that Shaun was living here too, but this was far more than she'd expected.

“Guys, I can't believe you managed to _find_ all this stuff, never mind get it back here intact,” she marveled. “Where on earth did you get it?”

“Concord, mostly, but we had to swing by Sunshine Tidings to pick up the desk,” came another voice. It was a young man with sandy hair, a matching goatee, and a glint of mischief in his eyes. He attempted to doff his cap, then swore as he lost his grip and dropped the file cabinet on his foot. “Fuc- fudge! Damn it! Sorry, didn't mean that... hey, Shaun, you didn't hear me say that, okay?”

“Okay, Mr. MacCready,” Shaun replied. He went back to sit down on the couch, and swung his legs a little, back and forth. He gave Cait an inquisitive glance as she rolled the office chair down the hallway to the old nursery, then returned his attention to the television, apparently transfixed by the “Please Stand By” emergency test card.

“Sorry,” said MacCready to Margot, rather bashfully. “Still trying to watch my language.”

“Why, what's it doing?” said Margot.

The tired old line would have made most people groan. Fortunately, she was talking to MacCready. Her mercenary friend was a terrifyingly accurate sniper and his hobbies included drinking, treasure-hunting and raising five kinds of hell, but his foremost specialty was terrible, terrible jokes. Although her little riposte would never compare to the one about the rabbi, the Ghoul and the Super Mutant, it was enough to get a smile out of him.

“Hey, you know what I mean,” he said. “A friend of mine from the Capital Wasteland is bringing Duncan here soon, so I need to smarten up. And speaking of avoiding bad language - mind pitching in before I drop this thing again?”

“Sure,” said Margot, hurrying to assist him with the file cabinet. “How is Duncan doing, anyway? Is he feeling better?”

MacCready's grin turned into a beam of fatherly pride.

“He's doing great,” he answered. “All thanks to you.”

“Don't mention it,” said Margot. She dodged Cait as the woman pushed past on her way out, then adjusted her grip on the cabinet. “You helped me when I was looking for my son. Getting your boy well again was the least I could do to return the favor - ”

“Aunt Piper!” Shaun yelled, jumping to his feet. He ran over to the empty frame of the living room window and waved frantically, the static television screen all but forgotten.

“Hi, Shaun! Good to see you! Now can someone _please_ give me a hand with this piece of junk?” she heard Piper yelling from outside.

Margot leaned past MacCready's shoulder, and saw the raven-haired Diamond City reporter struggling to push a wooden desk along the broken, weed-studded asphalt of the road. Her cheeks were reddening with exertion and the heat of the afternoon sun; they were almost the same shade as their owner's trademark scarlet trench-coat.

“Uh, hang on, Piper,” Margot called out. “MacCready and I'll get this into Shaun's room first and then we'll - ”

“No need, soldier,” boomed a loud, commanding voice. “Here, Miss Piper, let me get that for you. That's too much for one civilian to handle.”

Margot craned her neck to look, and almost dropped her end of the file cabinet when she saw Paladin Danse bounding across the street in his Power Armor. The ground shuddered a little with every step as he hurried over to assist Piper.

“Thanks, Danse, but – whoa!”

With one hand and an apparently effortless movement, Danse picked up the wooden desk from the asphalt and hoisted it over his shoulder as though it weighed no more than an empty field knapsack. With his usual stoic expression, he marched up the path and into the house, leaving Piper astonished in his wake.

“ _Ad victoriam_ , Paladin,” he greeted Margot, with a nod of his head in place of his usual salute. She nodded in return, feeling her heart claw its way up her throat. When he saw MacCready, he added, more stiffly:

“Civilian.”

MacCready inclined his head very slightly.

“Danse.”

Margot stared after Danse as he passed them in the hallway. It took her a moment to realize that her mouth was open, and that MacCready was grinning from ear to ear.

“Your knight in shining Power Armor,” he said. “Did you miss that buckethead while he was gone?”

Margot felt her face grow hot.

“I missed _all_ of you while you were gone,” she said quickly. “The folks at Nordhagen are - ”

“Hey, don't change the subject,” said MacCready, with a look on his face which said “ _oho, you don't fool me”_. He was still grinning. “I know the Nordhagen settlers are doing just fine, or you wouldn't be back here already. Unless you told them to fix their own problems for once and hurried back to see good ol' Captain Cosmos. You always did have a soft spot for military men, huh?”

“Of course I like military men,” said Margot, more shortly than she'd intended. She took a shuffling step backward and tried to navigate the file cabinet into the alcove which had once been a broom cupboard. “Nate was a soldier. My father was a soldier. You told your wife _you_ were a soldier. What are you trying to say, exactly?”

“Oh, stop acting like you don't have a crush on the guy,” MacCready scoffed. “We all know it. Shame he's too busy stomping around and saving the day to pick up on things like human emotions... even ones the rest of us could see from space. I guess the Institute missed a spot when they were programming him.”

Margot scooted out from the alcove and helped MacCready push the cabinet into an upright position, but now she was scowling at him.

“I know you don't like synths much, but you don't mind palling around with Nick, or Curie. What's your problem with Danse?”

“Nick and Curie have a sense of humor,” MacCready retorted. “Unfortunately your buddy Paladin Dunce missed out on the ol' wit and wisdom at some point during assembly.”

“Don't call him that!” Margot snapped. “He's just as smart as you, R.J. - maybe even smarter.”

“But not nearly as charming,” said MacCready. He gave her a roguish grin. “Come on, let's push this thing in a little further.”

“That's what she said,” Margot said automatically. Hanging around with MacCready always seemed to bring out her childish side; their adventures were frequently punctuated with butt jokes and “that's what she said” quips. Juvenile comments about Raider hygiene, Super Mutant love lives and whether or not synths could fart had made them snicker their way along every road in the Commonwealth.

MacCready gave a hoot of laughter.

“Margot, you're too good for him. You should team up with a guy who actually appreciates that wicked sense of humor!”

“Why, are you auditioning for the part?” said Margot, raising one eyebrow.

MacCready guffawed.

“And risk ruining a beautiful friendship? Nah. Sorry. I still miss my Lucy. And I know you still miss your Nate. Hey, I'm not saying you _shouldn't_ think about settling down again, but - ”

“Just shut up and push, MacCready.”

They finally got the file cabinet into place and stopped, panting, to inspect their handiwork. Deacon and Hancock filed past them, muttering about needing a drink after the day's exertions, and went into the front yard. Margot and MacCready looked up at a _clunk_ from the room down the hall and some scraping noises; Danse had put down the desk in the next room, and was trying to reposition it.

“You okay in there, Danse? Need a hand?” Margot called out.

“Negative,” she heard him reply. “The furniture is arranged satisfactorily and the bed we brought back for young Shaun yesterday appears stable. I think you'll be pleased with this arrangement, Paladin de Havilland.”

“That's great,” said Margot, pointedly ignoring MacCready as he mouthed “ _Paladin de Havilland”_ and rolled his eyes. “Thanks for your help, Danse. Can you go and check on the others? See if they need any help with anything?”

“Affirmative,” Danse replied, and strode out of the room. Margot had to dive to catch a grimy porcelain vase before the vibrations from his Power-Armored footfalls shook it right off the shelf and onto the floor.

“You talked his boss out of putting a bullet in his head and he can't even bring himself to call you Margot,” murmured MacCready, as Danse stomped his way out of the house. “Wow. What a dope.”

Margot swallowed the lump of anger in the back of her throat, and put the vase back on the shelf.

“MacCready, that's not how he and I do things. Danse served with the Brotherhood of Steel for a _long_ time, okay? He's not about to disregard the fact that I'm still a ranking officer. He may not be with the Brotherhood any more, but he still respects the hell out of them, and their traditions.”

“Even after what they did to him? Seriously?”

“Hey, you know what they say about old habits,” she reminded him.

MacCready made a face.

“Whatever. Come on, let's go get some fresh air. Muggy as, uh, heck in here. Think there might be a storm rolling in. Oh yeah, and we brought beer! We found a case in some old building. Grab one while we got 'em.”

Beer sounded good. Wiping the day's sweat from her forehead, Margot followed him outside.

The others were lounging outside the house, against walls or in borrowed patio chairs, chatting among themselves and passing a crate of Gwinnett Lager back and forth. Codsworth hovered expectantly near the doorway, ready to retrieve any empty bottles.

Margot took a bottle for herself, then stood on the steps near the doorway and watched them talk. She didn't feel much like joining in the conversation, but she was happy enough to listen; simply being near her unruly gaggle of friends was enough to foster a sense of contentment after a long day of walking.

“So where were you when we were doin' all the heavy liftin', Paladin Power Armor?” Cait said accusingly.

“Keeping the route back to Sanctuary free of Bloodbugs, Ferals, and Raiders so you civilians didn't get bogged down,” said Danse, apparently unmoved by the resentful look Cait was sending his way. “You'll be pleased to know that I took out three of each. _And_ a Radscorpion. I didn't think you could carry furniture and fight at the same time.”

“I didn't think you could chew gum and walk at the same time, soldier boy,” quipped Hancock, as Piper passed him a bottle from the half-empty crate.

Deacon tried to suppress a snort; Piper, Cait and MacCready didn't.

“I assure you, I'm quite capable of doing both simultaneously,” said Danse sternly, as they laughed. “Now would you mind passing me one of those? I could use a drink. Power Armor is no joke on a day like this.”

Piper was about to pass him the crate when Cait snatched it from her.

“Hey, he doesn't need that stuff any more, remember?” she said, with a wicked look in Danse's direction. “Synths don't need to eat or drink. Just get him a can of motor oil, that oughta loosen him up!”

“Watch out, though, you might need to take the stick out of his ass first,” Hancock remarked, from his patio chair. “You think it was installed to factory specifications, or was he a custom job? Who the hell knows with the Institute. Still, it doesn't explain the lack of personality. Our buddy Nick has charisma to spare. Where'd they go wrong with Danse? They wipe his brain one too many times or something?”

Margot glanced a little nervously at Danse, waiting for his reaction. It never came. Members of the Brotherhood of Steel often boasted that their hearts were made of steel, but Danse's face seemed to be made of stone.

“Hancock, I think you need to lay off the chems, buddy,” Deacon chided him. He took the crate out of Cait's protesting arms and handed Danse a beer. “Synths have feelings just like the rest of us. Besides, how would little Curie feel if she heard you say things like that?”

Hancock's expression took on a rather guilty cast.

“Oh yeah. Damn. Sometimes I forget she's a synth. Cute little thing. Wouldn't mind taking her out sometime. Think I got a chance with her, Piper?”

“Why not? You could charm a Brotherhood Knight out of her Power Armor, Hancock,” laughed Piper.

Danse's brow furrowed.

“I _highly_ doubt that, civilian,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, we all know your policy on Ghouls, crew-cut,” said Hancock dismissively, waving a hand in his direction and kicking back in his chair. “And synths. How's that working out for ya?”

Danse froze, apparently unsure how to respond to the jibe. His expression remained unchanged, but the slight stiffening in his stance indicated that the comment had hit home.

“Hancock, come on, man,” Deacon complained. “Not cool.”

Hancock relented.

“Yeah, you're right. Sorry, Danse. Must be the Psycho. Helps when you're lugging heavy stuff around, but damn if it doesn't make me an uptight son of a bitch. Next time I'll stick to the Mentats. Or Jet. Or both.”

“Smart move, Hancock,” said Cait, knocking back the rest of her beer. She tossed the bottle over her shoulder; it bounced, and rolled away into a patch of dead grass. “Psycho's a killer. Almost got me. Would've, if it wasn't for our mutual friend takin' me to that rusty old Vault to get cleaned up. If it's a buzz you're after, then just come drinkin' with me sometime.”

“No thanks,” said Hancock, with feeling. “The last time I went drinking with you, I passed out in a pile of Brahmin dung.”

“At least I let you pass out face-up,” Cait laughed. “You got off lightly, boyo!”

Hancock chuckled.

“Got me there.”

“Hey. Looks like the sun's setting,” Piper said, looking over at the horizon. The clouds were starting to take on a pink tinge, and the sun was dipping lower in the sky. She looked a little worried by this new development. “Sorry, guys, but I should probably head on home. I told Nat not to wait up for me, but...”

“I should get going too,” agreed Deacon. He set his empty beer bottle on the ground. “Got places to be. You know how it is.”

“I'll walk you home, Piper,” Hancock offered. “And you, Cait. You goin' back to the Combat Zone?”

Cait made a rude, exasperated noise.

“Not so long as I live,” she said. “Those days are done. But I'll head back to Goodneighbor with you. I could use another drink.”

They got up out of their chairs and started to make their way down the road.

“Hey, don't leave me behind,” said MacCready urgently, picking himself up and hurrying after them. “I might miss out on all the fun!”

Danse watched them go with a stare that spanned a thousand yards, but Margot waved them goodbye. As her friends disappeared into the encroaching sunset and Codsworth busied himself with picking up empty bottles, she overheard Piper saying to Cait, a little too loudly for someone who'd only had one beer:

“Did you see him lift that desk with one hand? Holy crap, the guy's strong!”

“Just the Power Armor, Piper,” sighed Cait. “I'm sure he's nothin' special underneath it.”

“Wouldn't you like to know? I know I would,” Piper said, with a giggle. “He may be a little lacking in personality, but you have to admit he's pretty hunky... well, for a Brotherhood grunt anyway.”

“Hah! Soldier boys like him are all the same,” said Cait, with a withering look over her shoulder. “Droppin' panties and bad guys wherever they go. Can't say I've ever been impressed by that sort of thing. Nah, give me a real man any day. Someone who isn't afraid to come out from behind the armor and go bare-knuckles with a Deathclaw. If I find a man like that, then that's the man for me.”

“And I thought _I_ had high standards,” said Deacon, sounding surprised.

Their laughter drifted away on the wind as they turned the corner, and then they were out of sight.

Margot looked fondly at the space they'd occupied.

“I wonder what they're talking about now,” she said.

“Probably me,” said Danse, without much emotion. His eyes were cast down at the dirt and dried-up leaves beneath his feet, and his thick eyebrows were knotted together.

Margot made a dismayed noise in the back of her throat. She went down the crumbling concrete steps of the house to join him in the yard.

“Danse?” she said. “You okay?”

“Your friends don't think much of me, do they?” Danse remarked, looking up and away into the distance. The windows of Sanctuary Hills' partially-restored houses were starting to light up, one by one. A few settlers had downed tools for the day, and were wandering toward the bar at the end of the street. Margot had built the structure with her own bare hands and some scavenged tools; she could hear music and conversation emanating from the bar already, and some muffled, distant laughter.

“Of course they do,” she assured him. “Look, I know Hancock's wisecracks were a little below the belt, but it wasn't anything personal. My friends and I make fun of each other all the time. That's the way things have always been with us. And I _know_ the same thing happens in the Brotherhood of Steel. Don't tell me you never saw any of the Initiates horsing around and ripping the hell out of each other after a few drinks?”

“Not on my watch,” said Danse firmly. “Horseplay indicates a profound lack of discipline. Initiates who kid around, play stupid pranks, or badmouth their brothers and sisters spend the rest of the day scrubbing floors. We don't tolerate disrespectful behavior in the Brotherhood.”

Margot tried not to sigh.

“Danse... you're a good soldier. You know that. And you know I've always respected you for doing things by the book. You were a better commanding officer than I'll ever be. But people need to let off steam once in a while. That includes being allowed to kid around after a rough day. I know the only things that kept my friends and I going on the road some days was our sense of humor.”

“I wouldn't know. Apparently, I don't have one,” said Danse. His expression was the same, but now there was a bitter note in his voice. “I'm too busy grunting about the Brotherhood and trying to save the day. _Paladin Dunce._ They must think the Power Armor covers my ears too.”

Margot placed her hand on his arm in response. Her fingers were slender and delicate, pale in contrast with the thick coating of steel armor, but Danse responded to the feather-light touch as though he'd been shot.

“Don't,” he said, with a startled look. He shook her arm away. “Please. I'm sorry. I know you want to help, Paladin, but - ”

Margot sighed.

“Can't we start working on a first-name basis, Danse? You're not with the Brotherhood any more.”

“You think I don't know that, soldier?” Danse said. His expression darkened, and his eyes flashed angrily. “I only think about it every damn _day_. Years of faithful service to the Brotherhood of Steel, risking my own life to further our goals and protect my brothers and sisters, only to be cast out in disgrace and told that my very existence was an act of betrayal. I know how much it bothers Elder Maxson that I'm still walking around, pretending to be alive.”

“Well, you don't bother me,” said Margot, with her most encouraging smile. “Not one bit. Except when you forget that I have a first name.”

“You're lucky, Paladin,” said Danse abruptly. “That's more than I've got.”

Margot frowned.

“What are you talking about? Of course you have a first name. I know you do. Although I can't recall that you ever told me what it was.”

“That's because I _don't_ have one,” said Danse. He threw his arms up in the air. Metal clanked as they came back down to rest by his side. “When I was growing up, I was Danse the orphan. Then I was Danse the soldier. Now I'm Danse the synth. I started as nobody and now here I am again. Except I'm not even a real person any more. Just a synth. A pathetic shadow of humanity. Danse was all the name they cared to give me.”

Margot's hand flew to her mouth.

“Danse, I'm sorry. I thought maybe you didn't like using your first name. Not that you didn't have one at all! I - ”

“It's getting late,” Danse cut her off. “The others are right. It's about time I head out.”

“You're not going back to Listening Post Bravo, are you?” she said, suddenly afraid. She gripped his arm before he could turn to leave. “Please, Danse, don't go all the way out there on your own. It's getting dark, and without any backup – if you run into a Brotherhood patrol – look, I don't want you to get hurt, okay? Why don't you stay here tonight, with me and Shaun? You'll be safe here with us.”

“That's okay, Paladin. While I appreciate the offer, I don't want to outstay my welcome. I'll bed down in the Minutemen barracks for tonight,” he replied, and Margot felt a wave of relief wash over her. “I'm sure Garvey and the others won't mind.”

“Can I come by and see you later? When I've put Shaun to bed?” she said. There was something plaintive, almost pleading in her tone; a sentiment she hadn't meant to put there, but which had forced its way out anyway.

Danse looked surprised.

“I... suppose so. Why?”

“Because I'm not done talking to you, that's why,” Margot shot back. “Come on, Danse. You don't get to mope away in the night and leave me worried about you because of something I said. That's not fair. Let's try and make amends before morning. Please?”

Danse wavered for a moment, then sighed.

“All right. But take care of Shaun first. I don't want you neglecting your duty as a parent, soldier. That boy depends on you.”

Margot nodded.

“I know. Thank you. The others didn't really understand why I brought him home at first, but - ”

Except Nick and Curie. They'd understood. They were both products of the Institute, in their own way, and they'd been quick to agree that the little synth needed someone to love and care for him. As for Danse, he hadn't quite seen eye to eye with her about synths even after the revelation which had rocked his whole world, but when he'd seen her carrying Shaun from the Institute, the boy clinging to her in terror as she cradled him in her arms, something had softened in his face.

“I understand,” said Danse, interrupting the flow of her recollection. “He's yours, and you love him for who and what he is. In the end, that's all that really matters.”

They glanced at the empty window. Shaun was sitting on the couch on the other side, happily munching on another snack cake, oblivious to the exchange going on outside. Codsworth was trying to sweep up beneath his feet, bemoaning the shower of crumbs on the carpet.

Margot let her eyes travel back to Danse. He was still looking at the house. He was a good man, she thought. Strong, steadfast, courageous; unfailingly loyal to the Brotherhood of Steel and its principles, even after his brothers in arms had abandoned him. Out of all the people she'd met on her travels through the Commonwealth, he was the one she admired the most.

Admiration. The others seemed to think it was more like a schoolgirl crush. A little part of her wondered if they were right. There had always been something about Danse which had made her unusually eager to please. She'd always attributed it to wanting to make her commanding officer proud of her, but she and Danse were no longer bound by the chain of command; now that he'd been cast out of the Brotherhood of Steel, there was no reason for her to crave his approval so desperately, or to want to follow him wherever he went.

She looked up, studying his face as closely as she dared. Danse didn't have Nate's clean-cut matinee idol looks, or his mellow voice, or the endless charm which had won her over as a starry-eyed teenager. He was much rougher around the edges; scarred, rugged, gravel-voiced, and for someone so fearless on the battlefield, oddly reticent when it came to getting up close and personal. But there was something about those dark eyes and the strong line of his jaw which kept making her want to sneak just one more look at him...

 _Margot, this is totally inappropriate,_ something inside her head warned her. _Elder Maxson would push you off the Prydwen's flight deck himself if he heard you'd been checking out someone who'd been dishonorably discharged from the Brotherhood of Steel. You're a soldier, not some silly girl in her sophomore year. Smarten up!_

But her thoughts were already wandering far away from military protocol, and now, like Piper, she was starting to get curious about what Danse looked like beneath his Power Armor. She'd only seen him without the bulky metal frame once, when he'd gone into self-imposed exile and left his personal Power Armor suit behind on the _Prydwen_. Elder Maxson had thundered cold denunciations and ordered her to hunt Danse down, but when she finally found him, she'd been so busy disobeying orders and persuading Danse not to eat his gun out of conscientious despair that she hadn't even glanced at the orange Brotherhood-issue jumpsuit, much less wondered about the shape of the man beneath it.

 _One of the Initiates said the guy can bench-press over three hundred pounds without breaking a sweat._ _I bet he has killer abs. And a really great butt._

Margot's cheeks flooded with pink. She was starting to feel ashamed of herself for the thoughts she was entertaining. Her husband's body was a few hundred yards away up the hill in Vault 111, still frozen in the cryopod which now served as his coffin. When thinking about Nate still hurt so much, it wasn't right to start wondering about how well Paladin Danse wore his uniform.

“What is it, soldier?”

Danse had turned to look at her again, and she caught her breath. Something in his expression reminded her a little uncomfortably of Nate, and how much she would have given to feel those loving arms around her again.

“Danse, I, uh... I have an idea,” she mumbled, lowering her eyes. “About your name.”

Danse's eyebrows raised.

“My name? What do you mean?”

“I - ”

“ _Mum!”_ she heard Codsworth calling from the house. _“Do come inside! It's getting dark and it's almost time for dinner! We're having Mirelurk cakes this evening!”_

“All right, Codsworth,” Margot called back. She could already feel her heart sinking. She hadn't felt like this since prom night with Nate. He'd been about to kiss her goodnight when her mother had called her inside the family apartment; she'd had to wait two days for him to stop by and make it up to her.

“ _Will Paladin Danse be joining us?”_ Codsworth bellowed, from the kitchen.

Margot looked to Danse for an answer. Much to her disappointment, he shook his head.

“Thanks, but I should get going.”

He turned, as if to go, then turned back again.

“Look... I can tell there's more you want to say to me, soldier. When you've had dinner with your family, come over to the barracks. We can open that bottle of scotch you found on our last scrap run and talk things over. If that's what you want.”

“Sure,” said Margot. She was a little angry at her heart; it had no right to flutter so hard in her chest when she was trying to act casual. “All right, Danse. I'll stop by later.”

“All right then. _Ad victoriam,_ Paladin.”

He put his right arm across his chest, Brotherhood-style, in the customary salute. She returned the gesture in kind, and watched him stride down the street to the barracks – the structure she'd built from corrugated iron and salvaged wooden joists on the foundation of a collapsed and disused house, and turned into a home away from home for visiting Minutemen.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, and closed the front door.

*

Danse slammed the weathered blue door of the barracks behind him, so hard that the whole building shook. On an impulse, he pulled the manual release of his Power Armor; with a few low beeps of protest, the X-01 suit unfolded and released him from its close metal embrace.

He felt naked, and angry, and afraid. His heart was hammering in his chest. The last time he'd felt like this had been in Listening Post Bravo, deep underground, where he thought he'd been safe from everything but his own thoughts. And then the elevator had spat open the one person he'd hoped Maxson wouldn't send after him. Margot de Havilland, then still a Knight, clad in a bomber jacket and the regulation jumpsuit which hugged her figure so well, her hair and military beret both knocked wildly askew in her haste to make it downstairs.

When he'd knelt before her on the bunker's cold concrete floor, with his head lowered and his arms behind his back, he'd been resigned to his fate. De Havilland was a good soldier. She knew what she had to do, and although he'd suspected that she would try to dissuade him from doing what had to be done, her orders came first. The Brotherhood of Steel came first. If it took his death to appease Maxson's wrath and shield the honor of his brothers and sisters, then that was that. He'd vowed to meet his end with the words _“Ad victoriam_ ” on his lips.

But as Knight de Havilland had spoken with eloquence about the value of their friendship and the humanity in his heart, the walls of steel he'd built around him had crumbled to dust. She'd reminded him about Knight Rhys and Scribe Haylen, and the other people who cared about him; compassionate words had fallen from her lips like rain on parched soil, until at last it had dawned on him that there were still things and people worth living for, and that he couldn't let them down. Suddenly, to his surprise, he'd no longer wanted to die. When she'd told him to come with her and stretched out her hand, he'd hardly dared to believe that there might be some way out of his impossible situation, but he'd taken her hand gladly and followed her anyway.

The ride back to the surface had felt like a dream. Danse had looked across at de Havilland in the elevator, wondering in a lightheaded way if this _was_ a dream and he was about to wake up to find the barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead, or if he really was standing there, holding hands with a vision of loveliness from the old world.

She was beautiful, he'd realized then, with an odd feeling in his chest. He hadn't given it much thought before, but now it was like trying to disregard being punched repeatedly in the face. Dark brown hair, shoulder-length and curled slightly, the way he'd seen on Pre-War magazine covers. Dark eyes, subtly made up with scavenged eyeshadow and mascara. Ruby lips which curved in a warm smile. A beautiful woman, made more beautiful by the love which shone out through her face. Love for her friends, her brothers and sisters in Steel, her dead husband and missing son, and the ordinary people of the Commonwealth; a mother's selfless, noble love, big enough to take the whole world in its arms and still have room for more.

 _Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends_ , he'd remembered reading somewhere. Whenever he thought of her, he thought of those words, and the way she'd confronted Elder Maxson outside the bunker. He'd watched with a mix of sick dread and profound appreciation as she tore the supreme leader of the Brotherhood of Steel to pieces with a few choice words about duty, loyalty and mercy, until the man had been forced to grant Danse what clemency he could in the circumstances. The encounter had left Danse in a state of shock. Nobody had _ever_ talked Arthur Maxson into backing down. That conversation could have ended disastrously, but she'd considered her own execution a risk worth taking to save his life.

She'd refused to carry out her orders. She'd challenged the authority of their Elder. She'd put her honor and her life on the line. For _him._

But just when he thought he'd figured out what made Paladin de Havilland tick, she'd thrown him for a loop. Over the course of his military career, he'd lost count of the bones he'd broken, and the wounds he'd sustained. He'd been stabbed, shot, mauled, concussed, blasted with the full heat and force of a rocket thruster, stung by Radscorpions, and endured near-fatal radiation levels when his Power Armor failed to seal correctly in a hot zone. None of those things had hurt quite as much as seeing her look on without a word while her friends ridiculed him.

Except it hadn't really been that bad, he reminded himself. He'd heard worse every day in the Citadel and the _Prydwen_ from his friends and brothers, and he'd shrugged off their playful jibes without a second thought. Why it had upset him so much to have Margot's friends belittle him in front of her was a mystery, but it was one he couldn't abide.

He pulled out a chair from the long wooden table in the mess hall and threw himself into the seat, then got up again a second later and began angrily pacing the floor.

“Damn it!” he burst out, and punched the wall. Too late, he remembered that the gauntlets of his Power Armor were still attached to the rest of the suit. His bare knuckles crunched against the wall and he felt pain flare through his hand.

Danse had to hand it to the Institute; they'd made his blood look exactly like the real thing, right down to the smell of iron. It welled up quickly between his knuckles, coursing down the little lines on the back of his hand as he opened his palm.

Maybe, just maybe, that had hurt a little more than having a dumb mercenary and a damn Ghoul poke fun at him. And perhaps being laughed at wasn't quite as bad as the time he'd broken both femurs jumping out of a moving Vertibird. He still remembered the sound of his own screams in his ears as Paladin Krieg and the others rushed him to the field hospital.

_Damn it, Danse, you know better than to let things get to you. When did you forget about discipline and allow yourself to lose your grip? Suck it up, man! Remember your training!_

His training. It was second nature now, almost instinctive; he followed his training procedures as automatically as he drew breath. He looked around him for medical supplies, and spotted a First Aid kit hanging on the wall. He pulled down the box and rummaged through its contents for antiseptic and bandages. He found both. The bandages were discolored with age, but they would do in a pinch.

He did his best to clean the wounds with his free hand, then wound the bandages around his knuckles and wrist. Footsteps descending the rough wooden stairs and a polite cough made him look up from his work.

“You okay, Paladin Danse?”

It was Preston Garvey, second-in-command of the Minutemen. He must have been changing upstairs in the dormitory; he was missing his customary hat and coat.

“I'm fine,” Danse growled.

“Well, if you're fine, would you mind not trying to punch a hole in the wall?” said Preston, in what Danse considered to be an unnecessarily reasonable way. “We only patched it a few days ago. The General won't be pleased if you undo all her hard work.”

“Acknowledged,” said Danse gruffly. “Apologies.”

“You all right? Looks like you busted your hand,” Preston commented. “You need some help fixing that up? I have some medical training.”

“Negative. I'm fine,” said Danse. “Thank you,” he added, remembering his manners. People still associated him with the Brotherhood; he had to be on his best behavior and represent them well, no matter what had happened to him.

“You're welcome. If you change your mind, you might want to let me know sooner rather than later. I'm about to put my head down for the night. Got an early start tomorrow.”

“Going on an adventure with your General?” said Danse, in spite of himself. The thought made something sharp and jealous twist in his stomach.

“Nah,” said Preston. “I have to head over to The Castle in the morning. Check up on the new recruits, maybe run some maintenance on the radio tower. Radio Freedom's up and running again,” he added, with a hint of pride. “We're broadcasting live across the Commonwealth now.”

Danse nodded.

“I heard. Well done. Retaking The Castle was no easy feat.”

“You can thank the General for that,” said Preston, more modestly. “Not me. She was in charge of the operation. You should have seen her in action.”

“I have. She's quite a soldier. A shining example to the rest of her brothers and sisters. I'm proud to have served with her.”

Preston smiled.

“I couldn't agree more. Say, don't I owe you a beer from the last time I saw you? From the Institute?”

Danse nodded again.

“Here,” said Preston. He tossed a roughly-sewn sack of bottlecaps in Danse's direction. Danse caught it more by reflex than by any conscious desire to move his hand. “Have a couple on me. While you're at it, head over to the bar and get them to dish up some of that nice aged Brahmin steak they've got behind the counter. It's damn good steak. You'll like it.”

“Thanks.”

“Don't mention it. Goodnight.”

Preston turned on his heel and headed back upstairs. Danse pocketed the caps and gave the empty set of Power Armor a long look over his shoulder, but he finally left the barracks and went out into the darkening street.

*

“Codsworth?”

They were clearing the table. The robot was humming a little tune as he gathered up the once-clean white plates, stacking them one by one and rushing them over to the sink. The running water was sporadic and still a work in progress, but it worked well enough when it wanted to.

“Yes, mum?” he said, stopping in his tracks and rotating to look at her. His eye sensors gave him an expectant look; she'd never imagined that something made out of metal and electronic components could have such a wide range of expressions, or that she would find any of them so reassuring.

“Do you think the others were being too hard on Paladin Danse?” she said, biting her lip.

“A good question, mum,” said Codsworth, more thoughtfully. “A little joke between friends is all well and good. I'm sure the Paladin is no stranger to the old _camaraderie_. Why do you ask?”

Margot was mopping the tabletop down with an old dishrag. She'd been thinking about it over dinner. She sighed, and dropped the cloth.

“I know they didn't mean to be cruel. They're not like that. We've always joked about the things that bother us, like the happy band of screw-ups we really are. But Danse doesn't operate like that, and I think some of the things they said upset him. I probably should have said something.”

“Perhaps, mum,” said Codsworth, ever the diplomat. “I'm sure Paladin Danse can take care of himself, but we all need someone in our corner when we're feeling vulnerable. I did notice that he didn't seem too willing to join in the old banter. One or two of the comments might have been... a tad harsh, let's say.”

Margot's shoulders sank. Big, bold, brave Danse seemed immune to every danger; she'd made the mistake of assuming that a man who could charge headlong into a Mirelurk nest and leave a litter of eggshells and severed claws in his wake was so invulnerable that nothing could ever hurt him. But even if he wasn't entirely human, he still had feelings. He kept them well-hidden and they rarely surfaced, but when they did, it was for a good reason. She remembered the frozen look on his face outside, and the unhappy way he'd stared down at his feet in the yard.

_Paladin Dunce. They must think the Power Armor covers my ears too._

Margot shook her head.

“I'm going to kick MacCready's ass the next time I see him,” she said, in a low voice.

Codsworth looked alarmed.

“Sorry, mum?”

“Never mind, Codsworth,” said Margot, more loudly. She picked up the dishrag again. “It's all right. I'll just have to have a friendly word with him about his choice of nicknames. I'm particularly unimpressed with _Paladin Dunce_.”

“I have to say, that was rather unkind of Mr. MacCready,” said the robot. If he'd had a mouth, it would have been pursed up with disapproval. “Paladin Danse is a decent chap. I think he and the husband would have been firm friends, had they met.”

Margot gave the robot a sharp look.

“You think so? I know Danse and Nate were both military, but that's just about all they have in common.”

“Nevertheless, mum,” persisted Codsworth, “I think sir would have appreciated a friend like him. You couldn't ask for a more reliable man to have around. If your husband could see us now, mum, I think he'd be glad to know you had someone like Paladin Danse here to look after you. I – oh! Oh dear, mum. Are you all right?”

Margot sat down heavily on a kitchen chair and buried her head in her hands. Her shoulders began to shudder with sobs.

“Codsworth!” she wailed. “Please, just – I can't! I... Nate!”

She felt one of Codsworth's metal arms touch her lightly on the shoulder. Although the robot happily toasted Stingwings with his flamethrower attachment and took on larger enemies with a buzzsaw and a jaunty “ _En garde!_ ”, he was still capable of gentler things.

“There, there, mum,” he said quietly. “Not to worry. Everything will turn out all right in the end.”

Margot looked up at him. Through the blur of tears, Codsworth almost looked the same way he had when Nate had pulled him out of the box for the first time, all those years ago. Patient and long-suffering, the robot had been there on the day the world ended, and he'd waited out the apocalypse for her to come home again.

The memory hit her in the face like a stray baseball. She'd emerged from Vault 111, blinking in the daylight as the elevator brought her to the surface, only to be met with a devastated landscape of blasted trees and broken houses, and sun-bleached bones strewn across the dry, dead earth. She'd been so overcome with the horror of it all that she'd dropped to her knees and let out a terrible howl. She'd sobbed, cried, cursed, and beat her fists in futility against the scorched, rusted metal of Vault 111's entrance in a terrible lament for the world she'd known, loved and lost. But when the tears had finally run dry, there had been nothing else to do but stumble down the hill and go home, in the hope of salvaging something of her old life from the ruins.

It had been a shock, walking back to Sanctuary Hills. She'd feared that there might be nothing left of the brand new subdivision she'd once called home. But when she'd crossed the little bridge over the stream and seen the familiar outlines of the Houses of Tomorrow – battered by radiation storms and the toll of time, but still standing - her heart had lifted a little. And when she'd seen Codsworth waiting patiently at the front door as if the centuries had meant nothing at all, she'd felt hope bloom in her chest. There had been just enough left of the old world - _her_ world - to give her the strength to carry on.

“You'll always be here, won't you, Codsworth?” she said, wiping her eyes. “You won't ever leave me. Right?”

Codsworth seemed to vibrate with indignation at the very idea.

“Leave you, mum? Never! Why, the very idea! Mum, I don't know where on earth you got the notion that I might _ever_ abandon your side, but let me assure you - ”

“All right, Codsworth. I get it,” said Margot. She wiped her running nose on the back of her hand, but now she was smiling. “I'm being an ass, aren't I? I should know better than to think you'd ever leave me and Shaun.”

“Indeed,” harrumphed the robot. “Really, mum! After all we've been through together, I thought you knew me rather better than that.”

He rotated through one hundred and eighty degrees, the same way a human might shake his head to dispel a notion.

“Anyway, it's about time I put young Shaun to bed. Are you planning to retire too, mum?”

Margot looked toward the front door, half-lost in thought; her deep brown eyes were distant. A moment later, she shook herself out of her reverie and returned her attention to Codsworth.

“Sorry, Codsworth. Miles away. What did you say?”

“Turning in for the night, mum?” Codsworth repeated.

“No, not yet. There's something I need to do first.”

“Might I be of assistance?”

“Actually... yeah. Do you remember that book Nate brought home for me, just after we had Shaun? When we were still trying to work out what to name him? Do you know what happened to it?”

“Ah, yes! _1001 Names For Newborns!_ A bit water-damaged, I'm afraid, but still in readable condition. I put it away for safekeeping. Would you like me to retrieve it for you?”

“Thanks, Codsworth. That'd be great.”

“Might I ask what you have in mind for it, mum?”

Margot looked again at the front door.

“It's... a surprise.”

“Oh? Very well, mum. I'll be back in a jiffy!”

“Thanks, Codsworth. Let me know when you find it.”

She got up and went to her bedroom to change. The double bed she'd shared with Nate had rotted away long ago; she'd slept on an old single mattress on the floor for months until she'd been able to round up enough parts to build a new bed frame.

She sat on the end of the bed and opened the dresser which stood in front of the window. In the past year or so, she'd filled it almost to bursting with the Pre-War clothes she'd collected on her travels. There were threadbare suits, odds and ends of armor, hats, shirts, jeans... even a tuxedo and a couple of sequined dresses. She wasn't sure if she'd ever have much use for an old tuxedo in Nate's size, but a hunch that it might one day be useful had persuaded her to take it with her anyway.

Codsworth had managed to launder some of the old print dresses she'd found. They were a little faded and still bore the odor of all-purpose Abraxo cleaner, but anything was an improvement on her Minutemen General's uniform, which had accumulated a variety of interesting stains on her travels and smelled like sweat, seawater and Mirelurk innards. She pulled out a blue dress patterned with little pink and lilac flowers and held it up to her. She hadn't tried it on yet, but it looked to be about her size.

As she started to unbutton her uniform shirt, Margot found herself glancing out of the front window. Night had finally fallen on the Commonwealth. Electric lights burned brightly in her neighbors' windows and doorways, and the old streetlamps had switched on, illuminating the whole street with their cold white sodium glow.

_It was so dark in Sanctuary when I first got here. You could pick out every star in the sky. Now we're rebuilding and we've got the whole place lit up again. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it looked almost Pre-War._

She could see the Minutemen barracks from here. Some salvaged industrial lamps blazed on either side of the door, casting yellow light on the old “Police” sign which she and Preston had nailed up on the wall one morning.

“ _We're not really police though,”_ she remembered Preston saying. _“Technically we're - ”_

“ _I know, Preston. Sometimes we just have to work with what we've got.”_

“Here you are, mum!”

Codsworth appeared in the doorway and reached out to give her a small book. She thanked him as she took it, and flicked through the pages. They were crinkled and stained with water damage, but the print was still legible. It would do.

_Sometimes we just have to work with what we've got..._

*

Two bottles of Gwinnett Ale and a medium-rare Brahmin steak had improved Danse's mood a little. The looks of suspicion from the other three patrons of the bar hadn't. He'd heard them whispering from the next table:

“ _That's the guy from the Brotherhood of Steel. The one they exiled. I heard Travis talking about him on the radio.”_

“ _They exiled him? Why, what'd he do?”_

“ _What'd he do? He's a synth! They hate synths! He's lucky they didn't shoot him in the face!”_

“ _A synth? What the hell is he doing here?”_

“ _He's one of the General's friends. You know how she feels about synths.”_

“ _She knows how we feel about synths! Why'd she bring him here?”_

“ _You really wanna go out there and tell the General her friend ain't welcome?”_

“ _Hell, no. Are you crazy? I heard the General beat a Yao Guai to death with a baseball bat. She didn't even need to, it was just for kicks! I don't know about you, but I like being able to use my arms and legs!”_

“ _Then shut up. I think he's looking our way!”_

Danse had ignored them and continued eating, but the comments about not being welcome had stung. Fine steak seemed to have turned to ashes in his mouth. He finished it anyway, because the crime of wasting food was one of the few things that everyone in the Commonwealth could agree on, but once he'd cleared his plate, he couldn't get out of the ramshackle bar fast enough.

He'd returned to the Minutemen barracks and taken a seat in the common area to wait for Margot. The open space outside the mess hall was home to a water-stained couch; some armchairs which had seen better days; a rickety wooden bookcase; an old radio broadcasting news updates and violin music; and a low-slung coffee table decorated with an ashtray and a couple of Pre-War magazines. Someone had left the stub of a cigar in the ashtray, but Danse wasn't tempted to retrieve it. Smoking had been prohibited inside the Brotherhood's flagship, partly because highly-flammable hydrogen gas and cigarette lighters didn't go together, and partly because the _Prydwen_ 's medical officer, Knight-Captain Cade, had warned them at length about what the habit did to your lungs.

He looked up hopefully as the door opened, only to see one of the Minutemen walking in through the door.

“Evening,” the man greeted him, and headed straight upstairs.

Danse sighed. Maybe she wasn't coming. Perhaps he should get the bottle of scotch out of the mess hall liquor cabinet and start drinking anyway.

The door opened and closed again. This time Margot was standing in the doorway. She'd changed her clothes; the Pre-War housewife who'd just stepped out of 2077 now looked the part in a dainty cotton dress. It was surprisingly well-laundered for something which had spent two hundred years sitting in the grime and fallout of the Commonwealth.

“Hey, Danse,” she said.

“Margot,” he greeted her, with a nod of his head. “Glad you're here. Five more minutes and I was going to start without you.”

“Oh no you don't,” she warned him, disappearing into the other room and returning with a dusty bottle of scotch and two shot glasses. “I found it in the ruins fair and square, okay? That means I get first dibs...”

She stopped just short of the coffee table, as if struck by some revelation.

“You called me Margot,” she said, eyes opening wide.

“Well, yes,” said Danse awkwardly. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. “You mentioned that you wanted me to, so I thought – I – I'm sorry, Paladin. I didn't mean to be over-familiar.”

Margot just smiled.

“It's all right. You and I have been through a lot together, Danse. You can call me whatever you want as far as I'm concerned. Now come on, let's crack this thing open and see if it's still good!”

She sat down in the chair opposite the couch, passed him the rescued bottle of scotch, and watched as he opened it. Deep amber liquid splashed into the shot glasses. Margot picked up hers, turning it round in her fingers, then took a sip.

“So, Danse. I've been thinking. I'm sorry about earlier.”

“Why? You were right,” said Danse. “I shouldn't take comments like those to heart. I'm sorry. I guess I've been a little... overwrought lately.”

“No, I should have said something,” she insisted. “Banter between friends is all very well, and I love those guys. They're like family to me. But we're all pretty messed up in our own way, and sometimes things can get a little out of control.”

Danse shrugged.

“I've seen out of control, soldier. People losing it on the battlefield and breaking down because they've just seen their best friend killed by enemy fire. People fighting Deathclaws on three sides. Fire raining down from the skies. When you've seen things like that, words don't really matter any more. They're just words.”

“But - ”

“Don't worry about it. It's all in the past now. It's not worth fighting over.”

Margot grinned wickedly.

“I'll tell you what is worth fighting over... this _gorgeous_ scotch. You've got to try this shit, Danse. It'll blow your head clean off!”

“Well that'll save Maxson the trouble,” Danse joked.

He'd hoped to make her laugh with a touch of black humor, the way her friends always did, but Margot looked appalled.

“Danse! That's not funny! Don't say things like that!”

“I'm sorry,” he said hastily. “I was hoping to make light of things, but I suppose that was a little distasteful.”

He picked up the shot glass to drown his embarrassment and downed the contents in one. He shuddered, and smacked his lips. It tasted like liquid fire, but the way it burned on the way down his throat made him feel like he was back inside his Power Armor again.

“Oh yeah. That's good. I'll take another.”

“Danse, don't feel like you have to change yourself, or – or act like them just so I'll like you,” Margot told him, as she poured out two more shots. “You don't need to do that. You're a good person, and I like you just the way you are. I don't want you to change.”

“Change is... a little frightening,” he admitted.

Margot snorted.

“Ain't that the fucking truth?” she said. “I could write you a book if you gave me enough paper. Although I'm not sure there's enough paper left in the world to describe half the things I've seen in the hellholes of the Commonwealth.”

She threw her head back as she upended the shot glass.

“Ugh. Speaking of paper, I have something for you.”

She leaned in her chair and picked up something from the floor beside her. It was a small book with a colorful paper cover. Jolly lettering and bright primary colors stood out under the dirt. Danse read out the title.

“ _1001 Names For Newborns._ Thank you, but I'm not sure I understand why you're giving me this.”

“You said you didn't have a first name,” said Margot. “I thought maybe we could do something about that. Why don't you go through the book and pick out one you like?”

Danse seemed surprised by the suggestion.

“Well... all right. But I'd appreciate some help. A thousand and one names is a lot to digest.”

“About half of those names are for girls,” Margot pointed out. She got up from the chair and moved to sit beside him on the couch. “Unless you were thinking about going to Diamond City for a face change and calling yourself Polly in future, that should help narrow it down for you,” she added, with a sly grin.

“I'll pass on spending the rest of my life as a Polly,” said Danse, poker-faced. “Even if the thought ever started to appeal, I doubt I could ever wear a dress as well as you do.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” said Margot. Her cheeks grew a little pinker. “Well, let's get started. They're alphabetized. Open it up at A and work your way through.”

“All right, let's see here...”

Danse flipped through the ruined pages of the book and began to read aloud.

“Aaron. Abel. Abraham. Achilles. Adair. Adam... that's a nice name. Adam. No, reminds me too much of Adams Air Force Base. Lost too many good people there that day. Maybe something else. Aiden. Adrian. Alan. Alexander. Alistair?”

Margot shook her head.

“I don't know about you, but they're not grabbing me so far. Keep going.”

“Hold on. I think I need another drink.”

“Yeah, we could be in for a long night here. I'll have another too. Damn, this is good scotch. Goes down smooth. I like the way it burns. So, what's next?”

*

Hours passed. Margot and Danse were still sitting upright, but only just. The coffee table was now awash with clumsily-spilled scotch and they were leaning against each other for support; Margot's head was resting against Danse's shoulder as he carried on reading names.

“Stafford. Stanley. Stanton. Starbuck – really? Did they make that one up?”

Margot shook her head.

“Nuh-uh. I knew a Starbuck. Linebacker on the school football team. He used to trip me up in the halls.”

“Bullies are cowards who prey on the vulnerable because they can't deal with their own problems,” said Danse, with a dark look. “If we ever come across time-travel technology, remind me to go back and teach him a lesson.”

Margot laughed out loud at the thought of an irate Danse traveling back in time to stuff her high school bully into his own locker.

_Ad victoriam, you son of a bitch!_

“Don't worry, I had Nate to stick up for me,” she assured him, in the face of his furious expression. “As a matter of fact, that's how we first met. Perhaps I should have thanked the stupid bully for his part in introducing us. Just do me a favor and don't name yourself after him. As far as I'm concerned, that name is forever tainted.”

“Affirmative,” said Danse. His face relaxed. “Uh... where were we?”

“Stavros, I think.”

“I really don't think I'm a Stavros.”

“Me neither.”

“Stephen?” he ventured. “You think I could be a Stephen?”

“Nah.”

“Sterling? No, that doesn't work. I'm supposed to be made of steel, not silver.”

“Stuart.”

“No - wait, what was that one again?”

“Stuart,” Margot repeated. She gave Danse a calm, steady look, in the hope of gauging his reaction. Or tried to. It was hard to look calm and steady when the world was gradually starting to slip out of focus.

“Stuart,” said Danse, rolling the name around his mouth. He seemed immersed in thought. “Stuart... Stuart Danse.”

Margot leaned over to look at the book again.

“According to this, Stuart is the name of one of the old clans of Scotland. It means “steward”, or “house-guardian”. Think you can live with that?”

“Well, I'll guard these houses with my life, that's for sure,” declared Danse. “As long as you call this place home, I'll defend it with every ounce of my strength. _Ad victoriam!_ ”

Margot's mouth curved upward.

“So, do we have a winner?”

“Stuart... yes, that could work. What do _you_ think?”

“It's a good name for someone who looks after people,” Margot agreed. She realized she was slurring her words a little; too much scotch. “Someone you can rely on. I know you've always done a great job at looking out for me.”

“Thank you,” he said. He put down the book of names on the table. “I could say the same about you.”

“You know, Codsworth told me something today,” said Margot. She reached for the bottle again and managed, more or less successfully, to pour herself another shot. “He said... he thinks you and Nate would have been friends.”

Danse looked taken aback.

“Really? You think so?”

Margot faltered as she tried to consider the possibility. Did she agree with her robotic butler's assessment?

“Yeah,” she said eventually. “Now that I think about it, yeah, I do. You would have liked Nate. He was a soldier. Like you. Warm, funny, kind, and – and smart, and so handsome. A good husband. A good father. He was my best friend. I miss him, Danse.”

“Of course. You loved him very much,” Danse observed. “And he loved you. You were lucky to have someone like that in your life.”

“I was,” said Margot. The smile blossomed and faded again on her face. “I really was. I had a wonderful family.”

“I don't remember my family,” said Danse. He shook his head. “I suppose I wouldn't. I never had one until I joined the Brotherhood, and now they're gone.”

“My family's gone too,” said Margot. She buried her face a little deeper into Danse's shoulder, so he wouldn't see the telltale shine of tears in her eyes. “My husband, my son. My parents. And Peggy... God, I miss Peggy.”

Danse looked puzzled.

“Peggy?”

“Peggy was my sister,” said Margot. Her voice was muffled through the fabric which covered Danse's right shoulder. “My little sister. She married Nate's brother, Bob – they met on a work placement at the Naval Research Institute. She moved to Washington, D.C. so she could be with him. She and Bob were about to have their first child. The last time I spoke to her, she said they'd reserved a place in a Vault, but I heard D.C. was hit hard. I'll never know if they made it in time. Even if they did, it doesn't matter any more. They'd be dead by now anyway.”

Danse patted her feebly on the shoulder.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” he told her. “I truly am. But awful though it sounds, I can't help but envy you. You had something, before the war. Real family, and real memories.” His voice started to crack. “The Brotherhood was the one real thing I had, but now I don't even have that to fall back on. The only life I've ever known is gone and I don't know where the hell I'm supposed to go from here.”

Margot brought her face out of the orange fabric of Danse's jumpsuit. The musk of sweat, steel and oil was still lingering in her nostrils as she looked up at him.

“I know how you feel, Danse,” she said. For the briefest of seconds, her eyes met his. “Been there. Done that.”

She sighed deeply, and was about to rest her head on his shoulder again when it hit her. For once, he was out of his Power Armor. That was a red-letter day for the diary; she could have kicked herself for not noticing until now. He looked a lot shorter now that he wasn't towering an extra foot over her in a hefty metal frame. The illusion was a little jarring.

 _He's hardly short, though_ , she thought, letting her eyes travel downward. _He's an easy match for Nate when it comes to height. Six feet at least. Build is another matter. Looks like that Initiate was right about Danse being a frequent visitor to the Prydwen weight room... damn._

She looked down a little further. He was pouring himself another drink. His hands were paler than his windburned face, but they were callused and scarred; she noticed for the first time that his dominant hand was wrapped in bandages.

“What happened to your hand?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”

Danse looked embarrassed.

“It's nothing,” he said quickly, putting down the bottle and picking up his shot glass instead. “Don't worry. I'm okay.”

“Are you?” said Margot. She wasn't sure why she'd asked, but since the question had escaped, she let it hang in the air.

“I... I don't know,” Danse confessed. “After all that's happened...”

He knocked back the shot in one and slammed the glass down on the table. Margot saw that he was trembling a little.

“Hey, it's all right,” she told him, and took his other hand in hers. She slipped her fingers through his and squeezed tightly. “I'm here. We'll get through this together, okay?”

Danse drew in his breath. He still remembered the way her small, pale hand had gripped his in the elevator as they'd returned to the surface. He'd been determined to slip away and vanish, but she'd been equally determined not to let him go. Although they'd found themselves in a world filled with terrors neither of them could ever have envisioned, they'd faced the uncertain future together, hand in hand. The memory of it made his chest tense up in a way which thrilled and frightened him, all at once.

Margot closed her eyes and leaned into him again.

“I wish you could stay here with us,” she murmured, into his shoulder. “I don't want you going back to that dark, moldy bunker when there's an empty house here in Sanctuary. We can get you set up with some furniture. Sturges and I can rig up a Power Armor station for you. Whatever you need. But you deserve a real home to come back to. Besides, I... I like having you nearby. I feel safer when you're around.”

“Maybe we should talk about this in the morning,” said Danse carefully. He still remembered the looks the other settlers had given him in the bar. “C'mon, soldier. I'll walk you home.”

He stood up, swayed a little, then collapsed back onto the couch. He'd forgotten to let go of her hand. Margot hiccuped in surprise, then erupted into giggles.

“Danse, you're drunk,” she announced. “And so am I! Hooray!”

“Drunk and disorderly conduct is unbecoming in people of our rank,” Danse said, with a small grimace. “I don't know what we were thinking. We've clearly had _way_ too much to drink. How am I going to get you home now?”

“You don't have to. We can stay right here,” said Margot. She yawned, and buried herself deeper in the couch cushions. “Hell, why not? I'm comfortable. And more importantly, I'm not sure if I can stand up.”

Danse opened his mouth to protest, but it occurred to him that Margot was warm and sweet-smelling, and that there was something he liked about the way she was leaning against him, her hand still nestled inside his. He decided there was no point in fighting the inevitable.

“All right, soldier. You win,” he said, closing his eyes. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” he heard her say sleepily.

“Of course. My word is my bond, and my bond is Steel.”

 _And right now,_ thought Danse, just as sleep overtook him, _I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be._


	2. Please Stand By

Danse was breathing hard, lungs heaving in air, but the horizon didn't seem to be getting any closer. He charged forward anyway, as fast as his legs could take him, the ground thudding beneath his feet. The cooling fan in his Power Armor had activated a few minutes ago, but it didn't seem to stop the sweat from pouring down his face. He could taste the tang of it on his lips, along with the bitter aftertaste of last night's scotch.

He'd woken this morning to find himself sprawled disgracefully across the couch in the Minutemen barracks. Margot had been snuggled up to him, her fingers still resting loosely in the palm of his hand. She'd mumbled something in her sleep as he moved her aside to get up, then she'd settled back down into the cushions.

The situation had been a little too close for comfort. Alarmed by his brush with impropriety, he'd taken a step back and immediately tripped backward over the coffee table, but falling over had only been the start of his discomfort.

Danse closed his eyes tightly against the memory of waking up to find Margot's arm draped over his shoulder. It had been absolutely inappropriate in every way. The worst part was, he'd _liked_ it. He'd had to go outside and throw a bucket of water over his head; he'd stood, dripping wet and shivering in the chill before dawn, hoping that nobody would notice the deplorable state of his uniform. He'd spilled scotch over himself at some point last night. He must have looked and smelled disgusting.

Ashamed of himself, he'd leaped into his Power Armor, as much to hide his sorry condition as to shield himself from the dangers of the wasteland, and started to run.

_Discipline. Exercise. Fresh air. A couple of miles to Sunshine Tidings and back should do the trick. If I can't shake my thoughts, I can at least shake the hangover._

He hadn't had a hangover like this for years. His head was dull and heavy with agony, and pain stabbed frantically at his eyes like a Jet-crazed Raider, but he carried on running. He'd been taught to fight through anything, especially pain. He'd once crossed a battlefield with three broken ribs, laser burns, and his own blood dripping in his eyes, and still returned home triumphant. If he could do that, he reminded himself, then he could deal with the aftermath of a hard night's drinking.

“ _Patrol Alpha, come in, Patrol Alpha_ ,” hissed a voice from the built-in radio. _“What is your current position? Over.”_

He wouldn't admit to anyone that he still listened in on the Brotherhood radio channels. One day they would switch out the access codes, and his last connection to his old family unit would be severed forever. But until that day came, it was nice to listen to their voices and military jargon over the airwaves. At least he knew that his brothers and sisters were still out there, doing their part to rid the Commonwealth of hazards like mutants and Institute Coursers. The knowledge was comforting.

“ _Patrol Alpha here,_ ” came a crisp female voice over the radio. _“Knight Hurlow reporting in. Multiple Gen-1 synth units sighted two kliks north-northwest of University Point. They appear to be on long-range recon for the Institute Remnants. Permission to engage?”_

“ _Affirmative, Patrol Alpha. Light 'em up.”_

Danse felt the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his body. Ready for battle. Except this time, the battle wasn't his to fight.

“ _Cambridge Control, this is Scribe Dunstan, Patrol Alpha. All synth units are down. Repeat, all synth units are down. We've recovered some tech for further analysis. Two Institute rifles and multiple synth components... couple of shock batons... what? Oh shit! Cambridge Control, we have multiple synth hostiles inbound. Can you send us some air support?”_

Danse's fists clenched with frustration. He couldn't help.

“ _Confirmed, Patrol Alpha. We have two units within range of your position; a Vertibird is inbound. ETA sixty seconds. Knight Hurlow, what is your current status?”_

“ _Taking heavy fire! Knight Edwards is down! Requesting immediate medevac and – what the - ?”_ he heard Knight Hurlow yell, the woman's voice so loud in his ear that he flinched and leaned away. _“What the hell are those things? They're – they're everywhere! Fuck!”_

“ _Say again, Knight Hurlow?”_

“ _Ants!”_ Knight Hurlow was screaming. _“We've got ants! Giant ants everywhere! Where's that fucking Vertibird?”_

Danse fought the panicked urge to change direction and head cross-country to University Point. Everything he'd ever learned was insisting that he rush to assist his brothers and sisters at once, but he was only too aware that he'd be shot on sight if he ever came within range of a Brotherhood position. There was nothing he could do but listen in and hope for the best.

“ _ETA ten seconds,_ ” the radio crackled. _“Vertibird Unit, do you have a visual on Patrol Alpha?”_

“ _Confirmed, we have a visual,_ ” a different voice called out in response. _“Commencing fire on hostile targets. Huh, never seen giant ants out here before. New one on me. Patrol Alpha, this is Lancer-Captain DeBrett, Vertibird designation A1-55 Delta Lima. What's your status?”_

“ _We're being overrun - multiple casualties! There's too many! Get us out of here!”_

“ _Acknowledged, Patrol Alpha; we have eyes on your signal. Sit tight, we're coming to get you. Prepare for pickup in ten seconds... five seconds... two seconds...”_

Danse sucked in his breath. Were they all right? Had Patrol Alpha made it?

“ _Cambridge Control, this is Lancer-Captain DeBrett, Patrol Alpha has boarded. Repeat, Patrol Alpha has boarded. All tangos down. Returning to base.”_

Danse remembered that he was holding his breath, and let it out gratefully.

“ _Acknowledged,_ ” replied the voice at Cambridge Control. _“Good work out there. We have medics on standby at the LZ, awaiting your arrival. Steel be with you.”_

“ _Ad victoriam,”_ Danse murmured in agreement. Another successful mission. Despite everything, he felt a surge of pride at the knowledge that the Brotherhood of Steel had triumphed again.

He was almost at Sunshine Tidings. The old co-op was a peaceful place. He and Margot had passed through the settlement a few times. It consisted of some forest-green wooden cabins, a central shed which housed a couple of stores and workbenches, and a larger building which the settlers had turned into a kitchen and bunkhouse. Settlers tended Mutfruit orchards and fields of Razorgrain, and caravans regularly passed through on their way to Sanctuary Hills, Oberland Station and Tenpines Bluff. It was protected by automated turrets and the guards who stood atop the watchtowers day and night, scanning the horizon for any potential threats. It was open ground, with little cover, but the slight elevation meant long-range visibility was good.

The exercise was already starting to clear his head. Or maybe it was just the morale boost from the Brotherhood transmission which had perked him up. Either way, he was feeling better. His eyes no longer throbbed, and his headache was starting to abate. When he got to his destination, he'd stop for some water and then head back to Sanctuary Hills – hopefully in a more respectable condition than the one he'd left in.

He bounded down the hill and saw Sunshine Tidings spread out in front of him. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, but already the settlers were up and about, getting ready to start their chores. He could see a few Brahmin in a pen beside the old storage shed. A two-headed calf hid shyly beneath its mother, peeking out at the strange newcomer.

Danse heard the distinctive sound of a .308 round being chambered. He glanced up. A young woman in a scratched Army helmet and combat armor two sizes too big for her was pointing a hunting rifle down at him.

“Halt,” she warned. “Identify yourself!”

“Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. Registration DN-407P,” he recited from memory.

The young woman gave him an odd look.

“That's not Brotherhood Power Armor you're wearing, soldier.”

“It's not,” Danse admitted, rubbing the back of his head. “I'm – not with them any more.”

“Then who _are_ you with?” she demanded to know. “If this is some kind of trick...!”

“No, ma'am. No trick. I'm a friend of General de Havilland.”

Name-dropping seemed to have done the trick; the woman relaxed, and lowered her weapon.

“Friend of the General is a friend of ours. You here on Minutemen business?”

Danse shook his head.

“Just hiked here from Sanctuary Hills. Needed to clear my head.”

“Huh. Well, all right. Go on in. Help yourself to water if you need it, but don't bother the Brahmin. Buster is a brute, and Patsy'll kick you in the head if you go too near her calf.”

“Understood.”

He passed through the security checkpoint and made a beeline for the water pump beside the storage shed. Another settler, a red-haired man in jeans and a grimy open-necked shirt, had stuck a bucket under the spout and was about to take up the handle when Danse tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, civilian,” he said. “I just need to - ”

“Hey, wait your turn, asshole!” the settler snapped. He planted his hand square in the breastplate of Danse's Power Armor and pushed him aside. “We need this for the crops. If you're really that desperate, Amy's installing a new pump by the bunkhouse. Maybe if you help her out, she'll let you have some water. But no cutting in line!”

“Uh, okay,” said Danse, stunned. He'd never been shoved by an unarmed civilian before. Most were too intimidated by the Power Armor to even approach the Brotherhood of Steel, much less stand their ground in a disagreement. “Sorry. I'll head over to the other pump. Maybe I can be of assistance.”

“Yeah, maybe,” the settler grumbled, pumping water. “Tell her Gideon sent you.”

Danse headed over to the bunkhouse, this time with a little less confidence in his stride. A couple of people looked up curiously as he passed. There was nothing subtle about Power Armor; powered by a fusion core and full of gears, servos, circuitry, fiber-optics, shock absorbers, motion-assist technology, radiation shielding, and a multitude of heads-up displays and other attachments, the frame weighed almost as much as a Pre-War automobile even without the heavy armor plates. The suits had evidently been designed with stopping power in mind rather than stealth - which was just as well, because you could hear someone in Power Armor from half a mile away.

A woman with a ponytail was working at the pump by the bunkhouse, cursing under her breath. She reached for a wrench, then looked up and tipped back the brim of her baseball cap when Danse's shadow fell across her.

“Hey there,” she greeted him. “I think I remember you. You were here with the General last time she came through. Paladin Danse, right?”

Danse gave a short nod.

“Need some help?”

“Sure. Pass me that wrench, would ya?”

He obliged. She brushed a strand of mousy hair out of her face with her forearm, and leaned back over the pump.

“Damn handle keeps slipping out of true. Fell off twice already.”

Danse knelt down to examine it.

“I think I see your problem, citizen,” he said, after a moment. “There's a screw missing right _here_.”

The settler followed his pointing finger, then groaned.

“Oh yeah, that'll do it. Must've fallen out when I wasn't looking. Thanks. I guess the pump's not the only thing around here with a screw loose. That box still over there?”

Danse picked up out a box of screws from the ground. She thanked him, took it, and flipped the cardboard lid open to take out a replacement. She picked up a screwdriver from somewhere in the dry grass and bent down again to position the screw.

“Come on, let's get this thing fixed up,” she said. “I don't know about you, but I'm thirsty.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Nah, I think I got this. Thanks. How's the General doing?”

“She's fine. I'll tell her you asked. It's Miss Amy, isn't it?”

The settler looked surprised.

“Yeah. How'd you know my name?”

“Gideon sent me,” supplied Danse.

“Did he?” said Amy. She finished turning the screwdriver, and put it down. She smiled. “I'll have to thank him. Okay, I think this should work now. Let's give it a try.”

She climbed to her feet and started to pump the handle. A thin trickle of dirty water dribbled from the spout, then gave way to a gush of clearer liquid.

“Aha! There we go! Give it a taste, see if it's any good.”

Danse put his hand under the spout and cupped it until his palm was full of water. He brought it to his mouth and gave it a small, tentative taste.

“It's good,” he reported.

He finished what was in his hands, scooped up a few more handfuls of clear water, then splashed the rest on his face. He grunted in satisfaction.

“Feel better?” said Amy. She looked amused. “You look like you had a long walk this morning. You trek over here from Sanctuary?”

Danse wiped his mouth.

“Affirmative.”

“Oh, good.” Amy rummaged in the pocket of her faded work pants and took out a crumpled note. “Would you mind giving this to the General for me? Caravan brought it over from Oberland Station last night. You'll save me a trip.”

She held it out. Danse took it from her hand.

“It's Minutemen intel, by the way,” she warned him. “Classified, so no peeking!”

“I'll make sure she gets it,” Danse promised.

“Appreciate it. Anything else we can do for you? Professor Goodfeels has a stash of Daddy-O if you're interested. Cooks the damn stuff even though he can't use it. Kooky robot.”

Danse had never understood the attraction to recreational drugs. Med-X was an important part of a field medic's kit, but it was there for emergencies, not for kicks. Other pharmaceuticals were a waste of time. He'd seen chem addictions ruin too many good men.

“I'll pass,” he said, holding up a hand. “I'm going to head back out to Sanctuary Hills and report to the General. Is there anything else you need here?”

“No, that should do it. Thanks again for your help. Safe travels. Tell the General I said hi, okay?”

Danse walked away as she put a grimy coffee cup under the spout, but his progress was impeded by the meandering progress of an old Mister Handy robot.

“Groovy,” mumbled the robot as it drifted across his path.

Danse shook his head. Sunshine Tidings had once been home to a commune before the war. According to a terminal which Margot had found in the main shed, the inhabitants had “liberated” it and reprogrammed it to “just be”. They'd clearly had no respect for personal property. Still, Professor Goodfeels was part of the furniture in Sunshine Tidings, and the settlers seemed to treat him with the same affection Margot bestowed on Dogmeat.

Margot. She was probably awake by now. He was starting to feel like a foolish teenage Knight again. Why had he been so quick to run away from the situation? What harm had there been in falling innocently asleep next to her after too much to drink?

_Fraternization. It goes against everything I've ever believed in. I already feel like I'm getting closer to her than I should. It's not appropriate... damn it, it's not right._

Danse broke into a light jog on his way out of the settlement, then a full run. The Brotherhood radio signal crackled out again, but for now, he was done being reminded of his old life. He adjusted the signal until Diamond City Radio came sounding out from the radio housing.

“ _Good morning, folks, this is Travis “Lonely” Miles here,”_ purred the radio DJ, with a voice like rolled silk.

Danse hid a smirk. He remembered when the man had sounded like a terrified Initiate stammering his way through his first day on the job.

“ _A little news before we begin our day. Any of our Ghoul listeners remember Saturday morning cartoons? Well, it's time to break out the Sugar Bombs and tune in once again, because some ingenious soul has restored power to one of the old television stations. They may be re-runs, but it sure beats the old test card, am I right, folks? No word yet on who's responsible for bringing us The Adventures of Captain Cosmos in an all-new time slot, but if you have any hints, be sure to give them to your old friend Travis, here in Diamond City. Now here's Bob Crosby and the Bobcats, with “Way Back Home”. Enjoy.”_

Warm jazz music replaced the presenter's voice. Danse found himself relaxing in his protective steel shell. He remembered the song from his tour of duty in the Capital Wasteland. Bob Crosby's sentimental songs had been a staple of Galaxy News Radio, the station run by that charismatic madman, Three-Dog. The Brotherhood had considered the station a valuable intelligence asset, as well as being good for public morale, so they'd provided a small protection detail to keep the Super Mutants at bay. Young Knight Danse had taken an interest in the radio station's inner workings, but mostly he'd just enjoyed the songs. It had been _fun_ , sniping at mutants and Raiders from the balcony with his best friend, Cutler, while jazz classics played in the background. They'd both sung along to Roy Brown and Danny Kaye at the top of their voices, high-fiving each other and yelling “Score!” whenever one of them bagged a headshot. He still missed Cutler, and those days.

As the music continued, Danse found himself slowing his pace to a leisurely walk. He looked around suspiciously, to make sure nobody was watching him trudge through the long grass. When he was sure he was alone, he joined in loudly with the song's chorus.

A Radstag doe jumped and darted away through the silent trees as he pushed his way, still singing, through a wild Mutfruit bush. He observed the animal's movements without much concern. Radstags could be territorial sometimes, but they had a skittish temperament and tended more toward flight than fight. The doe was already out of range, which meant it probably wouldn't be back. He shrugged, and carried on walking. He was within sight of the old road and the Red Rocket gas station; almost back at Sanctuary Hills.

Danse rejoined the road for a few yards, then cut across the forecourt of the Red Rocket station. The Minuteman known as Sturges was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to a Robobrain, painting the robot's outer casing an unpleasant magenta color with an airbrush tool. His work overalls were spattered with paint.

“Well Miss Jezebel, I think this shade suits you,” the man said, grinning. “Good choice.”

“Of course,” said the robot, in a rather haughty tone. “After all, I chose it. The probability of selecting any other color on the visible spectrum was -”

“About the same as my hooking up with Jangles the Moon Monkey,” said Sturges. He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Yeah, I know. So, how about this weather, huh? Didn't think it would turn out so nice after that rain we had overnight.”

“Chances of fair weather for the remainder of today: thirty-two percent,” the robot said smugly.

“Oh, you're no fun,” sighed Sturges.

He looked up from his work and saw Danse's bemused expression.

“Morning, Danse. You here to see Margot? She's up at Vault 111. Said she wanted to spend some quality time with the ol' spousicle.”

Danse frowned. He severely doubted that Margot would ever refer to the late Captain Nathan de Havilland as her “spousicle”. There seemed to be no curbing the man's irreverent attitude, however, so he opted for a cursory “thank you”, and continued on down the road.

He turned off the radio and crossed the footbridge to Sanctuary Hills, feeling the old, splintered wooden planks shudder and tremble beneath the weight of his armor. The houses were bathed in sunshine and the skeletal outlines of the maple trees, bare for two centuries, waved in the breeze. He could hear the sound of hammering on the other side of the bridge. There always seemed to be someone hammering away at a wall, roof or uncooperative machine here, no matter what time of day he visited.

A caravan had stopped to rest outside the market building, a few feet away from the nearest guard tower. Both caravan guards were sitting on the floor, glowering at passers-by. The trader, a no-nonsense woman with cropped brown hair and a padded blue jacket, was smoking a cigarette. Wisps of smoke curled into the morning air.

“You buyin' anything today, tin man?” she drawled.

Danse shook his head.

“Your loss,” the woman said, shrugging. She flicked cigarette ash in the direction of the street. “Maybe next time.”

Danse passed a couple of houses until he came to the turning on the left. The dirt path led to another bridge over a small stream, and wound up the hill a little way before stopping at the fence of a Pre-War construction area. When he'd first come here with Margot, some skeletons had been lying on the ground just outside the gate, with a few scraps of clothes still wrapped around the sun-bleached bones. He'd immediately gone back down the hill and ordered some of the settlers to arrange for the bodies to be buried, while Margot watched anxiously from further up the hill.

“ _In the Brotherhood of Steel, human remains are treated with respect!”_ he'd bellowed at one man who'd objected that he and the others were too busy. _“These people may be long dead, but they don't deserve to sit out in the elements like a pile of scrap while you pick fruit and shovel Brahmin dung! If you don't lay them to rest, I will!”_

Danse picked his way through the remains of the chain link fence and construction barriers, and headed up to the elevator platform. He'd expected to find the place devoid of life, but someone was sitting on the edge of the vast entrance doors - an old woman, dressed in bright colors, with her white hair tied up in a headwrap. Heavy gold earrings jangled as she tipped back her head and inhaled a dose of Jet.

“Hey, kid,” she coughed, setting the empty inhaler aside.

Danse didn't like the old woman much, and suspected that her so-called “Sight” was superstitious nonsense, but the Brotherhood had always shown respect to its elders. He mustered enough manners for a polite nod.

“Mama Murphy. What brings you up here?”

“Preston's starting to get uptight about the chems again,” said the old woman. She sounded slightly irritable. “He's a good kid, but he cares too much. I'm an old woman. I've lived my life. Let me get my kicks where I can.”

“He's right, ma'am,” Danse informed her. “You really should lay off the chems. They'll be the death of you. And they make Margot worry.”

Mama Murphy smiled a pensive smile and shook her head. Her milky blue eyes seemed to be staring far into the distance.

“She's down below,” she said vaguely. “Paying her respects to a man who ran out of time. A wife still in need of a husband. I see... a flag from the old world. Stripes, and stars. Candles burning in the depths. She misses him, but wonders if it's enough.”

Even though he told himself that he knew better than to fall for this garbage, Danse couldn't resist asking:

“Enough for what?”

“Poor thing,” said Mama Murphy simply. “Time is trying to heal her wounds. Still she resists. She struggles with what she has, and what she's lost. She dreams uneasily, of metal men and crawling horrors. I see passion, loyalty and guilt, all bound up in bonds of steel and gold. And you, Paladin Danse. I see you.”

“Me? I don't – what?”

She grabbed Danse's armored hand before he could object. Small, wrinkled, age-spotted fingers closed around the metal gauntlet. Danse's eyes widened.

“A man with a heart of steel,” Mama Murphy intoned, eyes half-closed. “A heart that _aches_. You cling to your brothers and your old life like a man drowning, but you long for the hand that guides you, and the ties that bind. You're looking for more than you know, Paladin Danse. There's a long road ahead of you. Right at the end of it is the truth. How far you're willing to go in search of it, though... that's up to you, kid.”

She coughed a hard, rattling cough, then blinked. Her eyes focused again on Danse.

“Damn chems,” she said hoarsely. “Sorry. I don't have any more answers for you, kiddo. You'll have to go in search of them yourself. I need to lie down. The Sight's really taking it out of me these days...”

She got unsteadily to her feet and tottered down the hill. Danse found himself still rooted to the spot, staring down at the rusting elevator door and its faded blue-and-yellow paint. He had the uneasy feeling that the old woman had just stared into the depths of his soul. He'd heard the stories about Psykers. Were they real after all?

He shivered as the wind blew some dead leaves across the Vault entrance. After his unnerving encounter with Mama Murphy, he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

*

Margot sat cross-legged on the floor before the cryopod. For some time, her head had been bowed in silence. At last, she looked up and spoke.

“Hey, Nate. It's me, Nora.”

He'd always called her Nora. Her middle name had become his affectionate pet name for her at some point during their courtship, and the nickname had stuck. Nobody else had ever been allowed to call her Nora. And now nobody ever would again.

Nate's face was visible on the other side of the glass. He looked as though he was fast asleep; there was still a hint of color in his cheeks, and the expression on his face was peaceful. But there had been nothing peaceful about her husband's end. When the Institute's pet monster, Kellogg, had grown tired of Nate's desperate struggle to hold onto his infant son, blood had spattered the inside of the cryopod. There were still little specks of it on his forehead, and in his neatly-combed brown hair. She wanted to wipe them away, but didn't dare open the cryopod again to do so. Curie had warned her that the cryopod was hermetically sealed, but no longer functioning properly; any further exposure to the air might cause decomposition to set in.

She'd tried to save him. Oh, she'd tried. She'd banged on the glass front of her pod from the inside and screamed until her throat was hoarse, but her attempts to free herself had all been in vain. Trapped in her cryopod, she'd been forced to watch her husband's murder from afar, while Kellogg and two Institute scientists in cleanroom suits stole away with Shaun. To add insult to injury, she'd been refrozen, suspended once again in time while her neighbors slowly suffocated beside her. When she finally woke from cryostasis again and stumbled, coughing, from her cryopod, her first act had been to rush to her husband's side, but by then Nate had been far beyond any hope of resurrection.

Candle flames flickered, their soft light reflected in the glass and on the vinyl floor. She'd turned the space in front of Nate's cryopod into a shrine. The trifold American flag he'd been awarded for his military service was still proudly displayed on the shelves in her living room, but she'd brought him another and set it before his body. Vases filled with dried flowers stood side by side with the old photo frames she'd found in her bedroom; pictures of Nate in his uniform and his wedding day tuxedo, smiling on his father's farmstead, and shirtless on the beach in Hawaii.

Margot stared up at her husband's face. Still so serene and handsome, even in death. She wondered what Nate would have made of this strange new world and its people. Would he have shared in her initial terror, or taken his new situation in his stride?

“I wish you were here, my darling. All of this would be so much easier if I still had you to talk to. You always knew what to do.”

Her voice echoed as it traveled down Vault 111's silent metal corridors. There wasn't another sound to be heard in the whole place, or any movement, save for flickering lights, the relentless dripping of water from her empty cryopod, and the imperceptible gathering of dust.

“This isn't fair. We were supposed to be together!” she burst out. Tears swam down her cheeks, hotter than blood. “We should have lived out our lives underground, safe with our boy. If I'd known what Vault-Tec had in mind for us down here, I would have told them to stick their paperwork and let us take our chances! Better that we all died out there together than be parted like this...”

She sighed. That last part wasn't true, and she knew it. The people who'd taken their chances had died agonizingly in a blast of atomic fire, or succumbed to starvation and radiation poisoning, or been preyed upon in their makeshift shelters by desperate fellow survivors in the aftermath of the bombs. Even some of those who'd survived probably wished they hadn't. Exposure to radiation had changed their bodies almost beyond recognition; some had escaped the worst effects and still retained their memories and sense of self. Others had not been so fortunate, and roamed the wastes as Feral Ghouls, like zombies from the old horror movies she'd once enjoyed.

“I know I'm wrong to think like that,” she continued, sniffling. “At least Shaun got to live out his life in a place with clean water and enough to eat. Not that he ever had a say in the matter. Damn those Institute _bastards!_ If they'd only invited you and me to come with them to the Institute as a place of safety, instead of just trying to snatch Shaun away without any explanation! We could have been there to guide him as he grew up. Helped him to make better choices. Worked together to make the Institute a beacon of hope, instead of a symbol of fear. But none of it worked out. I'm still doing my best to pick up the pieces. At least the others are helping me.”

Even through the tears, Margot couldn't help smiling at the thought of her friends.

“I wish you could have been here to meet them, Nate,” she told him. “Nick is a stand-up guy with smarts and sass for days, and I just _know_ you two would have been best friends. Deacon, Hancock and MacCready are the perfect partners in crime; I can only imagine the kinds of adventures you four would have had together. I'm not sure there would have been enough caps in the world for that kind of bail money. And Preston is the kind of friend we all need when the chips are down. The kind who'll hold you back in a bar fight and tell you they're not worth it, even when you're blind drunk and mad as hell... and when you ignore him and take a swing at the other guy anyway, he'll have your back until it's all over. He'll even pick you up off the floor afterward, give you a bag of ice for your head, and have the good grace not to say he told you so. Well, not much, anyway.”

She let out a small, soft laugh. It was a strange sound, in this eerie underground space.

“Piper's more the plucky journalist type. Always getting into trouble. She reminds me of your cousin Alice – she was a reporter too, wasn't she? She's a great kid. Cait's kind of prickly and I think she prides herself on her bad reputation, but she's not so bad once you get to know her. Curie is a sweetheart. Eager to help people and learn new things. And Danse...”

*

Danse hadn't been sure where to go after Mama Murphy left. However, he'd known better than to go into the Vault and disturb Margot's vigil at her husband's tomb. He remembered the time she'd brought him here to show him what had happened to her family. The choking sobs she'd suppressed at the sight of the Pre-War man, still in his blue-and-yellow Vault jumpsuit, slumped in the cryopod with an ugly bullet wound in his upper torso. He'd put a hand on her shoulder, told her to take all the time she needed, then moved a discreet distance away to give her time alone to grieve.

He was starting to wish he'd held her instead. He'd hugged Scribe Haylen once, when his sister in Steel had wept over the orders he'd told her to carry out. It had been... awkward. He hadn't really been sure what else to do, but the gesture of support had been appreciated. Perhaps Margot might have appreciated it too.

_Or perhaps she'd have yelled at me for intruding on her grief. It's hard to say with women. I wonder whose idea it was to make their emotions so complicated..._

“Hey, you big lug. What are you doing up here? Visiting hours haven't started yet,” a voice rang out behind him.

Danse turned. A figure in a faded trench-coat was standing a few yards away. He was human-shaped, but not human; his face was a pasty white, with a few missing areas which exposed the electronics beneath. The eyes that gazed out beneath the brim of a fedora glowed yellow, like headlamps. One skeletal metal hand held onto the collar of a friendly-faced German Shepherd dog; the other caressed a cigarette.

“Valentine,” Danse noted. “What are you doing here?”

The synth shrugged.

“I could ask you the same question, pal. Me? I'm looking for our mutual friend. She let me borrow Dogmeat for a case I needed to crack, but I'm starting to run out of dog biscuits, so I figured I oughta bring this little fella back home to his mistress. How about you, Danse? What's your story?”

“Some Minutemen intel to pass on from another settlement,” said Danse, holding up the folded, crumpled note he'd been given in Sunshine Tidings.

“And there was me thinking you were here to take her out for brunch,” said Valentine, with a chuckle. “So, you still hiding out in that hole in the ground?”

“Why, did Elder Maxson send you snooping around to see where I've holed up?” retorted Danse.

“Like I'd ever accept a retainer from that lunatic,” said Valentine scornfully. He took a drag on the cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. Some wisps escaped from the void in his cheek. “He hates me just as much as he hates you, Danse. That's the problem with guys like us. We just don't get the appreciation we deserve.”

“At least that's something we can agree on,” said Danse. He crouched down to Dogmeat's level and beckoned the dog over him. “Hey, Dogmeat. How are you doing, boy?”

Dogmeat broke away from Valentine and came racing up to Danse with a wagging tail. Danse patted him on the head.

“Good boy. I'm sure Margot will be glad to see you.”

“ _Margot_ these days, is it?” Valentine observed playfully. “Well, aren't you two getting cozy? I never thought I'd hear you call her anything but Knight, or Paladin. I suppose she still calls you Danse?”

“Not always. I have a first name now.”

“You do? I'll be damned. Care to share with the rest of the class?”

“Stuart.”

Valentine raised two almost invisible eyebrows.

“Really now? Stuart. Well, good for you. About time you started making a life outside of the Brotherhood. Where are you living these days?”

“Nowhere, exactly,” Danse admitted. “But Margot said there's a house here I could use. I'm thinking about it.”

“Well, don't think too hard,” said Valentine. He winked. “Someone else might beat you to it. Space in Sanctuary Hills looks to be at a premium these days. Place is filling up nicely. Still, I bet Margot'll be glad to have you around.”

“I hope so,” said Danse, with a glance down the hill. “Not many people are these days.”

“More fool them,” said Valentine sharply, to Danse's surprise. “You're a good man, Danse. I don't mind saying it. Not many people left with your kind of loyalty. Those lugnuts in the Brotherhood of Steel might not appreciate it, but plenty of others do. I'm pretty sure Shaun and Codsworth like you. I _know_ Margot does. And Dogmeat appears to be a decent judge of character, so there's that. All things considered, I think you could make a go of it out here.”

He raised a single eyebrow this time.

“So, tell me... why Stuart?”

“Margot said I should have a first name,” said Danse. He felt his face redden slightly. “She, uh... she brought over some old Pre-War book full of names so she could help me pick one.”

Valentine smiled.

“She's a doll, isn't she? Can't help but care for people, even after everything she's been through. And I think having that boy of hers to look after has done her some good. She smiles more often these days. I'm glad. If anybody deserves another shot at happiness, it's our Margot.”

The detective tipped his fedora in a little salute.

“In any case, I'd better get going. Good talking to you, Danse. Or should I call you Stu?”

“Danse will suffice,” said Danse, a little uncomfortably.

“If you say so. All right, I'm out of here. Tell Margot I send my regards if you see her first. Come on, boy, let's get you back home.”

Dogmeat gave a happy bark, and trotted away after Valentine. Danse waited a moment or two before following them down the hill.

It was strange, he thought, as he crossed back over the bridge to Sanctuary Hills. He and Valentine hadn't taken much of a liking to each other when they first met. Their exchanges had been terse and unfriendly, bordering at times on the downright hostile. But after the revelation that Paladin Danse had once been known as M7-97, Diamond City's most effective detective had been surprisingly sympathetic to his plight, and Danse had been forced to admit that while Nick Valentine was an Institute prototype, he wasn't a bad guy. With the memories of a Pre-War detective jammed into his head, he'd been able to relate to Danse's identity crisis better than almost anyone, and while Danse wasn't sure if he could describe him as a _friend_ , exactly, their mutual dislike seemed to have subsided to something more tolerable.

Preston was standing in the middle of town, talking to one of the settlers. In his broad-brimmed hat and colonial duster, the man looked almost like one of the old-world cowboys. He looked up from the conversation at Danse's approach.

“Oh - hey, Danse. I thought you took off this morning. Heard you clomping away down the street before I even got up. What brings you back here?”

“Minutemen intel for your boss,” said Danse. “But she's in Vault 111 right now. I don't want to disturb her.”

“Best not to,” Preston agreed. “Everyone needs some time alone to think. I can give that intel to the General for you if you don't want to stick around.”

Danse found himself hesitating. He and Margot had been deep in the bottle last night, but her words were still etched into his memory, like letters engraved in steel.

_But you deserve a real home to come back to. Besides, I... I like having you nearby._

“Actually, Garvey, I was hoping you had a moment,” he found himself saying.

“Sure,” said Preston. To the settler, he said:

“Excuse me, sir. I need to go talk to Paladin Danse for a while. We'll continue this later.”

The settler opened his mouth to complain, but when he turned and saw Danse looming over him like a wall of steel, he apparently thought better of his objections and scuttled away.

“All right, Danse,” said Preston. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his duster, and turned around. “You've got my attention. What can I do for you?”

“I heard you had an empty house in Sanctuary Hills,” said Danse. “I was hoping to stay. For a little while,” he added quickly. “I'm not sure if I want to make this a permanent arrangement.”

Preston smiled.

“We'll be glad to have you here, Danse. Yeah, the house at the end of the street is empty. The one next to the bar. Come with me, I'll show you.”

The two men fell into step, side by side, as they walked down the street. One or two settlers looked up in awe and fear as Danse rumbled by in his Power Armor.

“So why is this place empty?” he said, as they passed Margot's house, and then the armory on the other side of the street. Margot collected Power Armor suits the way people had collected coins and stamps before the war; she'd built an entire warehouse on the foundations of an old building just to store her collection. Danse had to admit to being slightly envious.

“Weeell, the other settlers think it's haunted,” said Preston, a little warily, as they navigated their way around the cul-de-sac. There was a huge, bare tree in the center of the rotary island; someone had decked it with strings of white lights, giving it an oddly festive air.

Danse scowled.

“Haunted? Why on earth would they think that?”

The clinic was on the left, and the bar ahead of them. On the right was an old prefabricated house with blue enamel tiles peeling from the walls. It hadn't been restored to anything near the same condition as the rest of the houses. The windows and doorway were dark, and Danse could see daylight coming in from the gaps in the roof.

Preston made way for him and let him in through the open doorway first, then followed him in.

“It seems like a perfectly good house,” Danse observed, looking up at the ceiling. He went to the kitchen area and brushed some dust off one of the counters. The Geiger counter on his suit let out a few brief, halfhearted ticks before settling down again. “Needs some work, but not too much. Shouldn't take too long to make it livable.”

Preston coughed.

“Unfortunately, there's a catch,” he said, as Danse peered into the old refrigerator in the corner. “The original owner-occupier is, uh... still in residence.”

“What are you talking about?” said Danse, glaring at him. “The owner of this house has been dead for over two hundred years. Don't be ridiculous.”

Preston tilted his head toward the open refrigerator.

“There's nothing in there but an old bottle of Nuka-Cola, Garvey,” Danse growled. “If this is some kind of absurd attempt to get under my skin, then I assure you, they make them tougher than that in the Brotherhood of Steel. You might as well give it up.”

“Uh, I meant _behind_ the refrigerator,” said Preston tactfully. “You, uh, might want to prepare yourself.”

Danse made a dismissive noise.

“Please. I don't scare that easily,” he said, and slammed the refrigerator door shut. “As a matter of fact, I – _wergh!_ ”

He reeled back in horror. A crumbling skeleton was slumped in the corner of the kitchen, in the space between one of the floor cabinets and the wall. It was still dressed in the tattered remnants of a man's shirt and pants.

“I did try to warn you,” said Preston, as Danse caught his breath. “That guy's been there since the war, by the look of it. Must have been trying to use the lead lining in that refrigerator door for cover. Guess it didn't work.”

“And you left him there,” said Danse. He was shaking. “That man's been dead two hundred years and in all that time, nobody even tried to – ”

“Nobody dared,” said Preston simply. “Nobody wanted to take this guy out of his house. They said it was bad luck. I've been meaning to do something about him for a while now, but every time I tried to make arrangements, we either got a rad-storm rolling in, or some report from another settlement needing help. Always too much to do around here.”

“Poor bastard,” said Danse. His expression was grim. “Civilians didn't stand a chance against atomic weapons. It wasn't a war. It was an atrocity.”

“Won't argue with you there,” said Preston, shaking his head. “It's always the ordinary people who suffer the most in war.”

Danse wasn't sure he agreed with that assessment. War was what he'd lived for, but he'd seen his share of its horrors. Good men spilling their blood in battle for home, family or whatever else they believed in, while civilians who had no idea about life on the front lines griped and complained about their lot. However, he suspected that Preston had seen his share of hardship with the Minutemen, and so he opted to say nothing. Discretion was the better part of valor.

“Garvey, see if you can find something to gather up these bones in,” he ordered. “I may not believe in ghosts, but I think this man's eternal rest is long overdue. I'm going to start digging a hole.”

“You're right. This should have been done a long time ago. Appreciate your help with this, Danse. If you can get this guy safely in the ground, then as far as I'm concerned, you've earned this house twice over. Do what you can for him, okay?”

*

_Danse..._

In the oppressive stillness of the Vault, the name hung heavily on her lips, and there was something about the way that it bounced off the walls and whispered down darkened tunnels that made her shudder. Saying the man's name here felt wrong, somehow, but Margot continued, more quietly:

“Danse is a pretty great guy. Codsworth thinks you would have liked him. I think so too. He's brave, and honest, and he understands what it means to be truly loyal, even when there's no reward for sticking to your principles. Poor guy's been having a hard time lately. He needs someone like you to talk to about life after the military. Unfortunately he's only got me. I'm doing my best, but... I don't know if I'm doing much good. He's a difficult guy to read. Not like you. I always knew what you were thinking. And you always knew right back.”

Silence filled the room. Nate had always been a good listener.

“I wonder if you can see me from wherever you are now,” she said softly. “Can you?”

She blew out the candles, stood up, and pressed her hand to the glass window which shielded her husband's face from the ravages of air and time.

“Oh, Nate. If you're looking down on me right now, I hope you're proud of what you see. I know you would have wanted me to help people, and to try and make this world a better place. I'm trying, honey; I really am. I'm sorry if I don't always get it right. Things aren't as straightforward out there as they used to be. But I'll keep trying, I promise. For you.”

She ran her hand tenderly down the glass, then pressed her lips to it. It left a faint mark, tinged with red lipstick.

“I love you, Nate. Always and forever.”

It took all of her strength to turn and walk away from Nate, as it always did, but she left the lipstick kiss behind on the glass of the cryopod and walked away, twisting her wedding ring around on her finger as she left.

Her high-heeled shoes clicked on the vinyl floors as she walked past the rows of dead neighbors and dead friends. Vault 111, the pinnacle of modern technology; it should have been their refuge, she thought, glancing uneasily at the frozen faces on either side of her. Instead, it had become their crypt. She remembered her father telling her stories of long-lost tombs and the golden treasures of ancient Egypt - of servants buried alive with their kings in underground rooms with painted walls. Each cryopod was a sarcophagus, each mortal man and woman an eternal king, as the bones of their caretakers gathered dust on the floor with the passing of the centuries. The pharaohs themselves could not have envisioned a grander tomb.

But there were no more bones down here. The skeletal remains of the Vault 111 staff had been cleared, at Danse's insistence. In a quiet sort of way, this place had upset him much more than it had the others. He'd never liked seeing bodies unburied. She still remembered the time he'd yelled at the settlers that it was disrespectful to leave dead bodies lying around, and that human beings needed to be committed to the earth when they died:

“ _Not left where they fell so scavengers can pick their bones. Not burned like garbage. Don't tell me you have better things to do than show your fellow man mercy! Bury them, damn it! Human beings bury their dead!”_

The cryopods had upset him too. “ _Unnatural_ ,” he'd muttered. “ _Abuses of technology like this destroyed the world. We should get them out of there. It's not right to leave them like that.”_

She'd persuaded him that the cryopods were fitting coffins, and that it wasn't right to disturb the dead. He'd agreed, reluctantly, and turned away to let her spend a few more moments with Nate before they left. One hand had touched her shoulder as he moved away.

“ _Take as long as you need, soldier.”_

It had been long enough. She needed to return to the land of the living.

Margot stepped onto the elevator platform and pushed the button. The cage-like safety doors slid closed. With a grinding shriek of metal and disused machinery, the elevator rumbled to life and brought her up to the surface. The doors at the top parted and opened, sending a cascade of blinding light into her eyes. She put one arm up against the light to shield her face from the sun. She'd forgotten how dark it was down there.

It was a relief to return to the surface and walk back down the hill to her home. Vault 111 was for the dead, a place of solemn reflection; in contrast, Sanctuary Hills was alive with activity, happiness and hope.

She opened the front door.

“Visitors, mum!” called out Codsworth. “Mr. Valentine is here. He's brought Dogmeat home. They're out in the yard with young Shaun.”

“Thanks, Codsworth. Sorry I came home so late.”

“Not to worry, mum. How was your conversation with Paladin Danse? Went well, I trust?”

“I think so,” she said. She stifled a yawn. That had been a very late night, and a lot of alcohol. But Danse had a first name. She wished he hadn't left so early this morning. She wanted to ask him how well he thought it suited him in the light of day. Was he coming back?

“Jolly good. Best go say hello, then. Don't want to keep our guest waiting!”

She opened the back door and stepped out into the yard. Her beloved geraniums were no more, but she'd planted a few Mutfruit trees to take their place. They were as challenging as rosebushes to keep alive, but the trees were worth the effort. Mutfruit tasted like all the berries she'd ever known, rolled into one; sweet, with a hint of sourness and a slightly sharp kick. She'd been trying to make them into a syrup, although so far her efforts had met without success.

Two figures were at the far end of the yard. One little, one larger, both playing baseball.

“Nick,” she called out.

“Mom!” Shaun greeted her, with a big grin. He was holding a baseball bat. Behind him, Dogmeat sat on the ground and chewed on the end of an old bone. “Mr. Valentine's teaching me how to play baseball!”

“Just the basics,” said the detective, with a chuckle. The skeletal metal fingers of his right hand were wrapped around an old baseball. “Someone's got to keep the old sport alive, and it sure as hell isn't going to be Moe Cronin.”

Margot laughed. Diamond City's most fervent baseball enthusiast had unfortunately gleaned entirely the wrong idea about America's pastime from the memorabilia he'd collected, and he now proudly announced to anyone willing to listen that happy families had once gathered in Fenway Park, long ago, to watch the teams beat each other to death with their bats. All her attempts to set the record straight had been met with a disdainful sniff, and the comment that he “liked his version better”.

“I hear you, Nick. Thanks for bringing Dogmeat back. Did you crack your case?”

“Sure did,” said Nick cheerfully. “Thanks to the best nose in the Commonwealth, we called time on the guy who's been taking a leak in Bobrov's moonshine still after hours. Let's just say he won't be raining on anyone's parade any more.”

He pitched the baseball, and Shaun took a swing; the bat missed by a few inches, and the ball rolled into the picket fence.

“Aww, I missed!” Shaun moaned.

“That's okay, buddy. We can give it another try,” Nick encouraged him. “I think you're getting better at this, you know. Keep it up and you'll be able to give the Diamond City kids a run for their money!”

As Shaun went to retrieve the ball, the detective looked over his shoulder at Margot.

“Say, Margot? Danse was looking for you earlier,” he commented. “Said he had a message for you from the folks at Sunshine Tidings. Think I saw him talking to Preston just now. You might want to track him down and see what he has to report.”

Margot raised an eyebrow.

“Must be important. Thanks, Nick. I'd better go see what he wants.”

She raised her voice.

“Shaun, be good for Mr. Valentine while I'm gone, and do what he and Codsworth tell you, okay?”

“Okay. I love you, Mom!”

“I love you too, Shaun. I'll see you later, okay? You two have fun.”

She closed the garden gate behind her, blew a kiss at Shaun as he waved, and stepped out into the street.

“Hey, Jun,” she said, grabbing the man as he walked past with a bucket of Tatos. “Have you seen Danse and Preston?”

Jun Long was a small, shy man, with rumpled dark hair and sad lines on his face. His shoulders seemed permanently slumped. She didn't blame him. He'd lost his son, and he was married to Marcy. The combination was probably enough to send anyone into a lasting depression.

“I think I saw them in the empty house at the end of the street, but Preston left already,” he answered. “Said he still needed to get to The Castle today and he was running late. Sorry, I gotta go. Marcy'll take my head off if I don't get these Tatos planted.”

He scurried away, like a frightened mouse. Margot shook her head. She would never understand why he was so devoted to the woman. Elder Maxson would have given his holotags to witness such a show of loyalty from a man; Marcy just seemed to take it for granted.

She hastened down the street, as fast as her high-heeled shoes could carry her. She'd changed her dress this morning, switching out the blue print for a similar number in pink. Work clothes were for work; she saved her best dresses for visiting friends and neighbors.

The last house on the right had been abandoned since the war. Dead leaves crinkled underfoot as she wandered in, drifting from room to room.

“Danse?” she called, looking into each doorway and peering into the gloom. “Hey, Danse? Stuart? You there?”

Her ears pricked up at a sound from outside. It was a metallic, scraping sound, accompanied by soft grunting. It seemed to be coming from the back yard of the house.

She looked out of the window to see what was causing it, and gasped. Danse was digging a trench in the back yard. Six feet long, six feet deep. Something lay in a bundle of ragged blanket at his feet; she thought she could see a few old bones poking out from one end.

She had a feeling she knew what this was about, and when she went into the kitchen and peered behind the refrigerator door, her suspicions were confirmed. He was digging a grave for the previous owner - something nobody else had dared to do, not even her. She'd known the guy who'd lived here, and while she'd hated to leave her former neighbor like that, she hadn't felt able to remove him from the home in which he'd taken so much pride. But it had needed to be done, she thought, with a stab of shame. She was starting to wish she'd rolled up her sleeves and done it herself.

_Speaking of rolled-up sleeves..._

Margot crept back to the bedroom and looked out of the window. Danse's Power Armor stood empty in one corner of the yard; she didn't blame him for taking it off. It was already becoming unbearably hot and muggy today, and she could feel the sweat circles starting to form under her arms, even though she was standing in the shade. The heat would be twice as bad for someone working in full sunshine.

Danse stopped to wipe his brow. A lock of black hair, damp with sweat, was hastily slicked back from his forehead. Then, to her surprise, he reached up to the collar of his jumpsuit and started to struggle out of it, pulling his arms free.

Margot's eyes grew wide as he stripped to the waist and tied the arms of his jumpsuit to fasten it around his hips. He stopped, took a long swig of Nuka-Cola from a half-empty bottle, then carried on digging.

It was the most she'd ever seen of the man beneath the armor. Muscles flexed and bulged; his skin glistened with sweat. The Brotherhood of Steel's winged-sword-and-cogs emblem was proudly tattooed on an upper arm, together with his last name and registration number. The holotags she'd returned to him swung from his neck each time he stooped down, and came to rest against his pectorals when he straightened up again.

Danse, DN-407P. A heart of steel, in a body of iron. He could probably bench-press whatever the hell he wanted, with or without Power Armor. With a grunt, he heaved another shovel's worth of soil over his shoulder. Margot leaned on the edge of the empty window and admired the view.

_I love work. I could sit and watch it all day..._

She snapped abruptly out of her daydream; he'd stopped, feeling eyes on his back, and was looking around to see who or what was watching him. With a sharp intake of breath, she drew back from the window and held her breath, until at last he shrugged and returned to work.

Color rose in Margot's cheeks. What was she _doing?_ She'd just come from her husband's final resting place, only to find herself spying on a shirtless Danse while he dug a grave for a man he'd never even met. It was wrong on more levels than she could count.

She bent to take off her high heels, then slipped out of the house on tiptoes, taking care not to be seen. Danse had often admired her gift for stealth, although she was a rank amateur when it came to Deacon; her friend and fellow Railroad agent moved like a ghost through the Commonwealth, changing his face and name as effortlessly as other people changed their clothes.

Still, Deacon had taught her a couple of things about sneaking around. When she was back outside, she replaced her footwear and walked round to the back of the house, taking extra care to make her footsteps loud on the ground.

“Hey, Danse!” she called.

Danse turned round to see who was calling him, and gave a start when he saw her. He dropped the shovel and immediately made a grab for the upper half of his jumpsuit, scrabbling to cover his bare chest.

“Excuse the state of my uniform, Paladin,” he said hurriedly, pressing the sweat-stained orange fabric against his torso, then struggling back into it. He pulled the sleeves back over his arms and shoulders, and started to fasten the buckles and straps which secured the garment in various places. “I wasn't expecting visitors. If I'd known you were coming- ”

“Nick said you had a message for me?” she interrupted.

“Affirmative,” said Danse, a little more confidently. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a note. “I went to Sunshine Tidings this morning to check on the settlers. One of them gave me this. Miss Amy. She said a caravan brought it over from Oberland Station. She also said hello,” he added, remembering Amy's instructions.

“Oberland Station, huh?” said Margot, unfolding the paper. “Small settlement. Not much happens there except farming and the occasional fistfight. What's this about?”

She scanned the page. It was in code. Even when she mentally deciphered the contents, they made little sense.

“Strange message from Minuteman Turner. He says that there have been sightings of ants building a nest in the area. The size of – what? No, that can't be right. Ants the size of dogs? According to this, a Yao Guai attacked the nest and one ant came out of it breathing fire. Really? Has he been hitting the Daytripper or something? This can't be for real!”

She looked up, laughing, from the paper at Danse's hiss of inward breath, and her mirth died in the face of his expression.

“What? Something I said?”

“I intercepted a Brotherhood of Steel transmission this morning,” said Danse. His brow had creased into a deep frown. “Reports of giant ants attacking Brotherhood personnel near University Point. We haven't seen anything like that for over ten years.”

Margot frowned.

“Ten years? You mean you've seen this before? Where?”

“Giant ants were a common sight in the Capital Wasteland,” Danse replied. “I remember standing on the flight deck in Rivet City and watching them crawl on the far shore of the Potomac. Paladin Krieg used to tell me that the ants didn't bother people unless you got too close to one of their nests. But then one day, about eleven or twelve years ago, we received some strange reports from a small urban settlement called Grayditch. Something about giant ants which breathed fire. They wiped out the town, but one of our affiliates was able to save a child and bring him to a relative in Rivet City.”

“I'm glad they were able to save somebody,” said Margot, relieved. A child. She hated the thought that Shaun might be left alone if something were to befall her out in the wastes. “Giant ants, though? Breathing fire? How is that even possible?”

“Same thing that caused all this mess to begin with,” said Danse. His expression was becoming ferocious in its intensity; his eyes were distant storms. “Technology in the wrong hands. According to reports from our Scribes, some idiot scientist was meddling with the genetics of an ant colony in Grayditch in an attempt to reduce them to their Pre-War size. Instead, he succeeded in making matters much worse, and the settlement became overrun. Exactly the kind of problem the Brotherhood was trying to put a stop to. Thankfully we were able to eradicate the vermin.”

Margot wasn't sure whether he was talking about the scientist at this point, or the ants. It was probably better not to ask.

“Am I following this correctly?” she said. “You said these, uh, fire ants were created in the Capital Wasteland? If that's true, and you wiped them out, then what the hell are they doing here?”

“Good question,” said Danse. He seemed to be thinking aloud. “Maybe some of the original colony survived and migrated north to the Commonwealth. Or maybe some damned Institute scientist decided to hit other people over the head with the building blocks of life, just because he could. There's no way of knowing at this point. We'll just have to keep an eye out and try to warn the other settlements. In the meantime, I'm sure the Brotherhood will be able to keep things under control. After all, wiping out hideous, disgusting mutants is our _specialty_.”

He stuck the shovel in the ground for emphasis, and bent down to pick up the bundle of bones. With great care, he placed them in the ground and twitched a fold of torn blanket across the exposed skull.

“Do you know what his name was?” he asked, looking up at her for an answer.

Margot shook her head. Shamefully, she didn't. She and Nate had passed their neighbor's house every day on their evening walks, but although they'd made small talk most days and admired his pristine lawn, she couldn't recall having ever asked the man his name. If Nate ever had, then the knowledge had died with him.

“We spoke most days, but we weren't close friends,” she tried to explain, when Danse gave her a peculiar look. “I know it sounds terrible, not knowing your own neighbors' names. But things were different then. Life moved at a much faster pace, and there were so many people. More in Boston alone than you could imagine. And moving house was common. I know Nate and I hadn't been here in Sanctuary that long. Eighteen months, tops. We were still trying to get to know the neighbors when – well, when it happened.”

Danse wrenched the shovel from the ground and started to fill in the grave, covering the bundle of fabric and old bones with loose soil. It showered down, filling the air with the rich, damp scent of earth.

“A John Doe, then. I suppose we can dispense with a grave marker if there's no name to put on it. At least he can rest in peace, whoever he is.”

He patted down the last of the disturbed earth.

“There,” he said, throwing down the shovel. He picked up the bottle of Nuka-Cola and offered it to her. When she waved it away, he drank the rest of its contents, swallowing the soda in a few long gulps. He wiped his mouth with the back of his bandaged hand.

Margot looked down uncomfortably at the grave.

“Think we should say a few words?” she said.

Danse put down the empty bottle by his feet and composed himself.

“Today, we commit this man to the earth,” he said. His voice was firm and steady. “For from the earth comes iron, and so we forge our steel; but what comes from the earth must one day return. If this man has strayed from the righteous path of the Brotherhood, then today we pray to the Creator for his redemption. May he ascend with his brothers and sisters in Steel to a glorious hereafter, and may his name and deeds endure forever in the Codex. May his memory be eternal Steel. _Ad victoriam_.”

“ _Ad victoriam_ ,” said Margot quietly.

They both stood to attention and saluted the grave, then relaxed again.

“Come on, Danse. Let's get out of here,” said Margot. She turned away, shivering in the sunlight. “I've thought too much about death today. I need to concentrate on being alive for a while. Let's go watch Shaun play baseball or something.”

She almost expected Danse to offer him her arm, the way Nate used to do. But Danse wasn't Nate. He held the gate open and let her walk out first, but he fell right into step beside her as soon as they left the yard.

 _Comrades in arms_ , she thought. _Soldiers, marching side by side._

“I've decided to stay,” Danse said at last, breaking the silence between them.

Margot felt her heart skip.

“You are?”

“Affirmative. The house needs some work to make it properly habitable, but I think that can be accomplished without too much difficulty. I'll need some furniture, of course. I'll see if I can appropriate a few items from Concord. Once I rig up some power, it should be quite comfortable.”

 _But not as nice as Margot's place_ , Danse thought to himself, as they walked up the path to her house. She'd worked so hard to turn that empty shell of a building back into a home. There were paintings on the walls, working lights, potted plants to brighten up bare corners, and even rugs covering the ruined vinyl floors. The bookshelves on the left held a few sentimental items; some porcelain vases, a trifold American flag which must have been her husband's, and a few books rescued from the Commonwealth's ruins.

Even the kitchen was spick and span. How she'd done it, he'd never know, but she'd found items in the dust which looked for all the world as though she'd brought them with her from the past. A shiny metal toaster, its yellow plastic trim still pristine. An unscorched oven mitt with a red and white checkered pattern. Pots and pans; a gleaming tea kettle; an aluminum cake pan which could have been brand new.

_Relics from a better time, like their owner. Their beauty undimmed by their trials._

“Greetings, Paladin Danse,” said Codsworth, in his ever-jolly butler voice. “So good to see you, sir!”

“Thanks, Codsworth. You too.”

He'd had mixed feelings about Codsworth at first; the robot's artificial personality had been a little too lifelike for his comfort. But as time had gone on, and he'd seen the plucky little Mister Handy rush to exterminate Bloodbugs and Stingwings for his mistress, fussing over her welfare with the devotion of an old family retainer, he'd developed something of a soft spot for the robot. Codsworth was a loyal servant, unfailingly courteous and hard-working. And even though he knew full well who – and, these days, _what_ – Danse was, he always sounded so damned happy to see him. He knew he shouldn't have been moved by what a machine thought of him, but there were plenty of things he did these days that he wasn't supposed to do.

_Fleeing the righteous justice of our Elder. Failing to ensure that one of my Knights carried out her orders. Listening in on encrypted Brotherhood transmissions without the proper authorization. Unlawful retention of Brotherhood gear following exile. Being a damn synth. The list just goes on and on. I used to do things by the book, but now the book's been reduced to ashes. I don't know what to do._

Margot opened the back door. He followed her outside, into the shade of the old carport, then into the full sunshine of the yard, where Nick Valentine and Shaun were chasing each other around some cardboard box bases, bats in hand.

Dogmeat appeared in front of them, with a baseball in his mouth.

“Hey, Dogmeat,” said Margot, brightening at the sight of her beloved canine companion. She knelt down in the dried-up grass and ruffled Dogmeat's fur affectionately. He dropped the baseball in the grass beside her and panted. “How're you doing, buddy? You guys having fun out here?”

“I love baseball!” Shaun cried out from across the yard. The boy's dark hair was tousled, and his eyes were shining. “This is fun! Mr. Valentine said you'd take over and practice catching with me when you got back. Please, Mom? Can we?”

“Sure we can, sweetheart,” said Margot. She picked up the baseball. “Nick, why don't you take a break? I'll take it from here.”

“Wouldn't mind taking a load off, actually,” said Valentine. He was missing his coat and hat; he'd been playing in shirtsleeves and rolled-up pants, although the fashion choice appeared to be more of a concession to mobility than the heat of the day. He put down his bat, letting it rest against the picket fence. “Sure, why not? You two enjoy yourselves. Danse and I'll put our feet up for a few minutes.”

He dragged out a patio chair from beneath the table and took a seat. Danse hesitated for a second, then joined him, hiking up the chair beneath him and pulling it closer to the table's edge. The striped fabric of the patio table's umbrella cast a welcome area of shade.

“Reminds me of the good old days,” said Valentine, with a happy sigh. He lit a cigarette and watched Margot and Shaun play catch. “This is how we used to spend our Saturdays, back before the end of the world. Outside in the fresh air and sunshine, cracking open a couple of beers and watching the world go by. Good times, my friend. Good times.”

“I never had time to sit and relax,” said Danse, with a small crease in his brow. “I salvaged scrap from the D.C. ruins so I could make enough caps to stay alive. That was how I – well, how I _thought_ I'd spent my childhood. More fool me. And when I joined the Brotherhood, there was always work to be done. Patrols. Missions. Training exercises. We never stood idle.”

“Just as well you didn't join the Brotherhood for the perks,” said Valentine, in tones as dry as the lawn. “Sounds like the paid vacation time leaves a lot to be desired.”

“We had leave, of course,” Danse said, a touch defensively. “I just... didn't know what the hell to do with it. I didn't have any family to visit. The only friend I had was turned into a damn mutant. And the Capital Wasteland didn't exactly have much in the way of recreation or tourism.”

“Accurate assessment, from what I've heard about the place,” Valentine agreed. He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Well, maybe it's about time you kicked back and relaxed for once. Might do you some good.”

Danse looked down as something brushed against his fingertips. Dogmeat was nuzzling his hand. He patted the dog's head, smoothing down a ruffled bit of fur between his ears.

“Good boy,” he told him.

“He likes you,” Nick remarked. “And you know who else likes you?”

He nodded in Margot's direction.

Danse looked at him, stunned.

“What do you mean?”

“Don't play dumb with me,” said Valentine, unamused. “I know you're smarter than that; your name's Danse, not Dense. Everyone with a brain between their ears knows that Margot is crazy about you. And while I suspect everyone in the Commonwealth is a little bit in love with the General of the Minutemen, I'd hazard a stack of caps that you're sweet on her yourself.”

Beneath the shade of the patio umbrella, Danse could feel his skin burning. He felt like he was back under the ArcJet rocket exhaust all over again.

“I... no, that can't be right. I'm not even human. Why would she ever care about a _thing_ like me? How is that possible, after everything she's been taught by the Brotherhood?”

Nick snorted in derision.

“You really want an answer to that? Just look at Shaun, Danse. Ten years old forever and bright as a button. He may be a synth, but she walked through a burning building to bring that kid home and love him like the son she lost. If Margot can open her heart to a boy built by the Institute, and call herself his mother, then I don't see any reason why you can't let her love you too.”

“And who says I want to let her love me?” said Danse stubbornly.

“These eyes are yellow, pal, not blind,” Valentine sighed. He stubbed out the glowing cigarette in the ashtray. “Look, you can do whatever you want. It's no concern of mine. But I think you'd be a damn fool to let her go. Make of that what you will. Either way, I have to head back to the office. Places to go, cases to solve.”

He got up.

“You're leaving, Nick?” said Margot, lowering her hand. She'd been about to throw the baseball to Shaun again.

“Please don't go, Mr. Valentine,” pleaded Shaun. “I wanted to play baseball some more with you!”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Valentine said apologetically. “I've already been here a little longer than I should. Time I hit the road.”

“All right,” said Margot. Smiling, she went over to the detective and planted a red lipstick kiss on the detective's cheek; Danse felt something freeze up in his chest. “Take care of yourself, Nick. Come back and see us soon.”

“You can count on it,” said Valentine. He raised his voice. “Hey, Codsworth? Mind grabbing my hat and coat for me? I'm heading out.”

Codsworth hovered out through the back door. Valentine's fedora was held in the pincers of one arm, and the faded trench-coat was draped over the arm with the buzzsaw attachment.

“Here you are, Mr. Valentine. I hope you have a safe journey.”

“You and me both, Codsworth,” said Valentine sincerely. He shrugged the coat on over his shoulders, and replaced his hat on his head. “Stay safe, all of you. Look after each other. And Shaun, keep practicing, you hear me? Baseball needs people like you to keep it alive.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Valentine!”

“Good man.”

Nick turned and left. He was a silhouette in the brilliant morning sunshine, and then he was gone.

“Master Shaun,” announced Codsworth, spinning around to face the boy. “You may be pleased to know that the television set finally appears to be picking up some kind of working signal. _The Adventures of Captain Cosmos_ is on. For the first time in over two hundred years, I might add!”

Shaun's brown eyes lit up with excitement.

“You mean there are _cartoons_? Cool!”

He raced into the house, almost skidding across the carport's pitted concrete surface in his haste to get back inside.

“I heard Travis saying on the radio that someone managed to get one of the television stations working,” said Margot to Danse, as they followed him inside. “You think they finally cleared the Gunners out of the old GNN Plaza?”

“Must've,” said Danse. He stopped in the kitchen. “So what's the deal with these cartoons? What exactly are they?”

“Television shows,” Margot explained. “There used to be all kinds. News, comedy, game shows, soap operas, drama. Cartoons were animated TV shows. Pre-War children used to love watching them on Saturday mornings. _Grognak the Barbarian, The Incredible Manta-Man,_ all the favorites from the old comic books. And _The Atomic Adventures of Vault Boy_. That little mascot seemed to get everywhere.”

“Vault-Tec propaganda, no doubt,” said Danse.

“Pretty much. The show was total garbage, but the kids loved it. Now _The Adventures of Captain Cosmos_ wasn't actually a cartoon. It was a live-action show and they showed it in the evenings, but they'd re-run it in the mornings with the cartoons. So everyone called it a cartoon. Guilt by association, I guess.”

“Science fiction,” Danse observed. “From what I've seen of the old posters, it looked... patriotic.”

“Everything was, back then,” said Margot, sighing. “We all were. I wasn't sure what would get us first, the Reds or the weight of our own hysteria as everything started to escalate. Turned out atom bombs will beat ultra-nationalism every time. But Nate always liked _Captain Cosmos_. It was his favorite.”

They went to sit down on the couch. Shaun was sitting on the floor between the coffee table and the television set, almost glued to the curved glass screen.

“Master Shaun, you mustn't sit so close to the television!” Codsworth warned him fretfully. “You'll get square eyes!”

“Hey, down in front!” laughed Margot. “We want to watch too, Shaun! Why don't you come up and sit on the couch with us instead? It's much more comfortable.”

“Okay.”

He hopped up onto the couch and curled up next to her. Margot put her arm around him, cuddling him in close to her and stroking his hair.

“Love you lots,” she told him, as he settled into her arms.

“Love you lots too, Mom.”

Danse was perched on the edge of the couch's seat, watching closely as Captain Cosmos and his screeching moon-monkey sidekick, Jangles, explored an alien planet.

“They should be careful. They're in an unknown environment and there could be hostiles in the area,” he said, with a slight frown. “At least Captain Cosmos has a plasma pistol to protect himself. That kind of firepower should take care of any - ”

“Shh!” Shaun shushed him into silence. “I want to see what happens!”

“You _are_ allowed to make yourself comfortable, you know, Danse,” Margot teased him. “Come on. Loosen up a bit. You're safe here with us.”

Danse relented, and leaned back into the cushions. He looked across at Margot. She and Shaun were watching with rapt expressions on their faces. He felt almost as though he was intruding on the scene.

_Maybe I should go..._

Margot's left hand reached out unconsciously for his. Danse held his breath.

_The elevator. The way she'd looked at him as they'd held hands. The way her eyes had shone, even in the dim light. The upward curve of her lips as she smiled bravely up at him._

“ _Everything's going to be all right.”_

On an impulse, he reached out and took her hand, closing his fingers around hers. It felt -

Like charging onto the battlefield in his Power Armor, drunk on bravery, roaring defiance at the world and all who opposed him. Like finding himself facing off against the Deathclaw which had carved the crescent-shaped scar in his right eyebrow and the longer, thinner one which had narrowly missed his eye, but this time without any armor standing between him and the claws. Like the stir of pride he'd felt in his chest during Elder Maxson's speech on the _Prydwen_. Like seeing a Vertibird descend from the sky when all hope seemed to be lost.

 _Like victory_ , he thought, as Margot looked up at him with a small, shy smile. _And like my heart's about to stop._

“ _Coming up next, The Unstoppables! But first, a word from our sponsors!”_

The emergency tone sounded and the picture cut out in a buzz of static; it returned, a moment later, but this time a face was staring out from the screen. It was hidden beneath a strange mask with antennae and huge multifaceted eyes; only the mouth was visible.

“People of the Commonwealth!” she announced. Her voice was high, cold and sharp. “This is the AntAgonizer! The time of my reign is at hand! Soon my ants will swarm over every inch of this land, and I will claim this territory as their queen! Bow to my will, or face my wrath!”

She disappeared again in a hiss of static and electric snow, and was replaced immediately with an episode of _The Unstoppables._

“Whoa!” exclaimed Shaun. “Was that the AntAgonizer? The one from my comic books? That was so cool! I can't believe she's really real! Is Grognak the Barbarian going to fight her?”

But neither Danse nor Margot shared his enthusiasm for the bizarre broadcast. They looked at each other, then back at the television, which was now playing a cheerful soundtrack of crashes, bangs and explosions as animated characters in capes cavorted about the screen.

“What was that all about?” said Margot.

Danse just shook his head.

“I don't know, but I don't think I like the sound of it.”

As if by some unspoken agreement, their grip on each other's hands tightened.


	3. Hearts and Minds

She was in bed with Nate on a glorious Saturday morning. Snuggled up beneath the covers as sunlight streamed in through the windows. Wrapped in each other's arms, safe in the knowledge that Shaun was asleep and that they could have a little time alone together before breakfast, they'd started to make love, exchanging breathy kisses and sweet murmured nothings. But as she looked up adoringly at her husband, she realized with a chill that something was wrong. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Something wrong, honey?” said Nate, concerned. He stopped, one hand tenderly cupping her breast. “What's the matter?”

His voice changed abruptly. Cold and robotic.

“ _Target acquired,”_ he hissed, and lunged toward her.

Screaming hysterically, she threw herself out of bed, blankets tangling around her legs as she tried to flee. She kicked them free and ran, still naked, into the hallway.

“I say, mum. What's all this kerfuffle?” the robot said heartily.

“Codsworth, help! He's not Nate!”

“Well of course not, mum! The husband is dead, I'm afraid!” said Codsworth. His tone was more cheery than it had any right to be. “It's up to you and Paladin Danse to repopulate the Commonwealth! He really is a sexy beast - simply perfect for you, mum! I'll make arrangements for the wedding immediately!”

“Where's Shaun?” she yelled at the robot. “I have to find him!”

“In the living room, of course. Whatever's the matter, mum?”

She pushed past him, with synth Nate hot on her heels.

“ _What's wrong, honey?”_ she heard his mocking voice behind her. _“Don't like what you see?”_

Mama Murphy was in the living room, sitting in the armchair in the corner; the old woman was cradling Shaun in her arms, singing him a soft lullaby. She ran to snatch up her baby, but when she looked down into the bundle of blankets, she saw Preston Garvey's face staring calmly up at her instead.

“Got something a bit different for you, ma'am. Another settlement needs our help. I'll mark it on your map.”

She gave a cry and dropped the bundle back into Mama Murphy's arms, then ran for the front door and threw it open, almost falling over herself in her haste to get out of the house.

“Shaun!”

There were giant ants crawling down the street, three abreast. Someone in the distance was laughing. A much larger ant, the size of a Mirelurk Queen, was rearing up on its hind legs, silhouetted horribly against the rising sun.

“Danse!” she found herself screaming. “Danse, where are you?”

A shot rang out, and she turned round. Elder Maxson was standing there in his long coat, with a cold smile on his face. He was holding a smoking gun. At his feet lay Danse; cold, still and bleeding. She couldn't see his face.

“ _Ad victoriam, Paladin.”_

“No!” she sobbed. “How could you?”

Maxson and Danse were swept away by a roar of sound; a long, low, escalating wail which made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She turned back to see the horizon vanish in a brilliant flash of light and an ominous, rising pillar of burning cloud. One by one, the houses around her collapsed, blown away by the wind.

The fire was coming closer. There was nothing she could do. She knelt down, threw up her arms against the encroaching shockwave in a last-ditch attempt to protect herself, and felt the heat of the explosion engulf her...

_*_

With a strangled shriek, Margot sat upright in bed. She looked around her with wild, frightened eyes. The old shirt she'd worn to bed was plastered to her skin with cold sweat, and her hair was damp. Her heart was too fast in her chest; it thumped loudly and insistently beneath her hand, like the beat of a radio through thin apartment walls.

She sat up a little more against her pillow, gulping down air, until at last the panic subsided. Reality began to set in. The world outside her bedroom window was still dark, with no faint color on the horizon to herald the coming dawn. It was the middle of the night. Nate was still dead, Danse was still alive, and the clouds had brought only rain to Sanctuary Hills.

“Just another nightmare,” she muttered to herself, and unwound the thin blanket which had twisted itself around her legs.

The floor was damp underfoot. The latest roof repairs kept the house dry, for the most part, but there was still nothing to stop the wind blowing rain into the rooms through the windows. She'd have to find some plastic sheeting one of these days, to cover the window frames and keep everything watertight. Or make some new windows. How did you make glass? She'd have to find out...

Rain hissed and spattered on the street outside as she tiptoed barefoot through the house. She used to love listening to the sound late at night. Now it reminded her of all the times she'd been caught out in it in the Commonwealth, forcing her to trudge through miles of thick mud, soaked to the skin, to get to County Crossing or Somerville Place and find out what it was the settlers wanted this week. She was glad she found herself safe in the shelter of her home, rather than out in the wastes with leaking boots and rain seeping through the chinks in her combat armor.

“Everything all right, mum?” said Codsworth, from the laundry room. He had been sitting on the floor, his robotic arms tucked neatly underneath him as he lay dormant. Now he was unfolding and rising into the air, awaiting her command. The room's bare lightbulb shone directly down onto him, making his metal surfaces gleam.

“I'm fine, Codsworth. Just another nightmare, that's all. Go back to sleep.”

“I don't sleep, mum, but I can certainly reactivate my “rest” mode in order to conserve power,” he reminded her politely. “Are you quite sure you don't need anything?”

“Just a drink. Don't worry, I can get it myself,” she added, before he could rush over to the drinks cabinet in the living room. “Get some shut-eye, Codsworth. Activate rest mode.”

“Straight away, mum. I'll be up bright and early at oh-six hundred hours. Do wake me if you need anything in the meantime, won't you?”

“Of course I will, Codsworth,” she said. She gave the top of his head an affectionate pat. “Thank you. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, mum.”

He returned to his usual spot in the laundry room and deactivated himself, settling back down into his “sleeping” position.

A small snore broke out from the next room. Margot peeked in through the doorway and saw Shaun asleep in his bed. He'd rolled over onto his side and knocked the blankets askew; one arm dangled over the edge of the mattress, fingers almost brushing the floor, while his beloved teddy bear nestled in the crook of his other arm.

She smiled. It was a sight she never thought she'd see. It hadn't turned out quite the way she'd anticipated, but few things ever did.

_It doesn't matter how he came into this world. He's my son, and I love him, and he's safe at home with me. That's all that matters._

Margot crept into the living room. It was quiet, except for a far-off roll of thunder and the metallic patter of rain on the house's roof. The streetlamps outside were still illuminated, shining silver in the rain. Bare branches cast strange shadows as they swayed and caught the light.

A yellow table lamp with a dusty white shade cast a soft glow over the living room and kitchen. She must have left it on after dinner, when she and Shaun had played Blast Radius with Codsworth. The game's creased cardboard lid sat askew on the box, and the board and its pieces still littered the coffee table. Codsworth had won. She'd suspected that using algorithms was cheating.

A whining sound made her jump. Dogmeat was lying beneath the dining table, looking forlornly up at her.

“It's okay, buddy,” she whispered. She crouched down next to him and patted his head. “It's just a little thunder. Everything's all right.”

Her reassurance didn't seem to have done him any good. Dogmeat whimpered a little, and covered his head with his front paws.

Another rumble of thunder sounded; this one much closer than the last. The storm was rolling in quickly. Margot shivered and went over to the drinks cabinet; a half-empty bottle of scotch was still sitting on top of it, next to a glass pitcher and some mismatched drinking glasses. She poured herself a generous measure of scotch and took the glass over to the couch. She sat down, tucking her legs underneath her, and leaned back with a sigh.

A horrible nightmare. Worse even than the one where she relived Nate's murder, over and over again, or the one where she found herself being picked up by a Deathclaw, staring down into the predator's cold eyes as it lifted her up with one clawed hand and readied the other to dismember her. That had happened to her once, somewhere just south of The Slog; only Cait's quick thinking and a few bursts from a flamethrower had saved her life.

“I still owe you a drink for that one, Cait,” she said out loud, and raised her glass in the air. “Thanks.”

The scotch burned on its way down, but she was grateful for the warmth that spread through her body in its wake. Just enough burn, just enough numbness, to take the edge off a night like this.

For a few moments, Margot sat in silence, staring at the curved black screen of the television and taking small sips of her drink.

_The AntAgonizer. Something from a comic book, just like Isabel. I wonder who's hiding behind the mask this time? And why? I just hope this isn't another job for the Silver Shroud. It was fun to dress up and be a superhero for a while, but I'm glad I decided to hang up the hat. Playing hero is a dangerous game out here in the wastes._

Or playing supervillain, she thought, swilling the scotch around in the glass. Wasn't the AntAgonizer from one of Nate's old _Grognak the Barbarian_ comics? Shaun would probably know. He read those things with all the fervor of someone looking for clues to Jamaica Plain's fabled treasures. She'd have to ask him.

She set the glass down on the coffee table and flipped on the television's switch. She perched herself on the edge of the ottoman and cycled through the channels, one by one. Channel 314 was the only one which appeared through the flurry of static - GNN's channel, the station they'd been watching right before the bombs had dropped.

It was back, but with a vengeance. After each episode of _The Unstoppables,_ or _Grognak the Barbarian_ , or _The Silver Shroud_ , that face appeared on the screen. Cold, shrill, demanding submission and threatening doom. The same speech, over and over again.

_Who was she?_

*

Danse woke with a start. He'd dreamed he was back in Listening Post Bravo, hiding out in the bunker. Elder Maxson had just burst in with a Gauss rifle and a grudge when a crack of thunder had snapped him out of the night terror.

He looked around. It was pitch-black in the house, save for the soft orange glow of the oil lamp beside his sleeping bag. Water had poured in everywhere from the empty spaces in the roof, forming puddles on the bare floor. He could smell rain and the dank smell of damp, dead leaves.

His thoughts strayed back to the television screen. The AntAgonizer. Who was that madwoman, and what were her plans for the Commonwealth, other than fear and domination? How had she taken over the television station? What did she _want_?

His suit of Power Armor stood in the corner of what had been the living room, like a guardian angel keeping watch over him in the night. _A sentinel in the dark,_ he thought. The shadow it cast across the floor was almost as impressive as its bulk.

The rare prototype had been a remarkable find. The only other set of X-01 armor he'd seen belonged to Margot, who had come across it in a broken-down military APC out in the field, about a year ago. From the moment she'd brought it home, she'd gleefully set about making even more improvements to the advanced armor, like tactical headlamps and a jet pack. He wasn't sure how or when the apocalypse had transformed a Pre-War housewife into a skilled armorer and weapons technician, but if necessity was the mother of invention, the father was surely some innate ability to make technology sit up and beg.

He stared up at the leaking ceiling. Margot was an extraordinary woman. She could charm people, technology, and even stubborn locks into cooperating with her. He'd occasionally joked that she'd missed her calling as a Field Scribe, but while she would undoubtedly have made a good Scribe, he had to admit that she made an even better Paladin. He'd been proud of how she'd reacted to the AntAgonizer's broadcast. Unlike Jun Long - who'd freaked out, thrown his television set out of the window and run screaming into the street - Margot hadn't panicked. Like a true soldier, she'd simply ordered Shaun to go and play with his toys in his room, and then calmly discussed the situation with Danse, talking tactics and next steps, while Codsworth fretted and fussed in the background about the potential hazards they might face.

They'd resolved to investigate the ant nest at Oberland Station in the hope of turning up some clues. Once they'd verified the report, they would try to determine where the signal was coming from. If they could find the location of the AntAgonizer's broadcast, then presumably they could find her too.

Oberland Station was at least half a day's hike away. They were supposed to leave at first light, but dawn was still a long way off. He got up anyway, and began sorting through his meager possessions so that he could pack everything he'd need on the road.

Laser rifle. Fusion cells. Some 10mm ammunition for his secondary weapon. Stimpaks. A combat knife. Some purified water for the journey. The remaining bottlecaps from the stash Garvey had given him. A spare fusion core for his Power Armor. One or two personal effects, and his holotags. Save for his armor and the clothes on his back, they were the only things he had left in the world. He couldn't really count Margot; she was his friend, but he could hardly add her to the short list of things which belonged to him. She belonged to Shaun, to the Minutemen, to the Brotherhood of Steel, and to herself... but not to him.

Alone in the darkness, he sighed.

*

Margot nursed a steaming cup of coffee and wrapped her overcoat a little tighter around her. She'd almost forgotten how cold it could be early in the morning, even at the height of summer.

“I've packed a few extra things for you, mum, in case you get waylaid by Raiders. Plenty of ammunition, food, some bits and bobs to trade, and a few canisters of clean water – courtesy of yours truly, of course!” said Codsworth happily. “I put some Fancy Lads Snack Cakes in there for you too, so you can still have your elevenses on the road. A modicum of civilization makes the journey go that little bit quicker, doesn't it?”

“It certainly does,” she said, smiling. “Thanks, Codsworth. I wish you could come with us too. I miss traveling with you.”

“Out of the question these days, I'm afraid,” said Codsworth, in a more regretful tone, although not an entirely convincing one. “Master Shaun needs me here at home to take care of him while you're out adventuring.”

Margot raised her eyebrows.

“Adventuring? I'm trying to be a working mom, not an absentee parent. I hope you don't disapprove, Codsworth.”

“Perish the thought, mum! You have positions of responsibility as the leader of the Minutemen, and as a Brotherhood Paladin. A great many people across the Commonwealth depend on your efforts! And Master Shaun understands. As a matter of fact, while I was tucking him into bed last night, he told me that he wants to grow up to be a Minuteman, just like you.”

Margot felt a swell of emotion in her heart. It seemed to be leaking out through her eyes.

“He's a good boy, Codsworth. You take care of my baby while I'm gone, you hear?”

“Not to worry, mum! No harm will befall Master Shaun while I'm around!”

“I know,” said Margot. She wiped her eyes. “It doesn't make me feel any better about leaving him, but...”

“I understand, mum,” said Codsworth. “It's always difficult to be apart from your loved ones. But he's in safe hands with me, don't you worry! Mr. Garvey and the others will keep an eye on him too. While I think the other settlers are aware that Master Shaun is a synth, they seem to have grown accustomed to having him around. Except Mrs. Long, of course, but as we all know, there's no pleasing some people,” the robot added, with a metallic chuckle.

Margot snorted with laughter.

“Codsworth, you have my permission to tell Marcy to go fuck a Radscorpion if she has a single bad word to say about my boy being a synth.”

“Manners forbid me from commenting, mum,” said Codsworth primly. “But I'll be sure to pass the message on, should the need arise.”

The ground beneath her was beginning to reverberate gently. She smiled, and got up from her seat.

“That must be Danse,” she said.

“Why, mum, how on earth do you - ?”

Something crashed twice against the front door, making it rattle on its hinges so hard that it seemed about to fall out of the frame.

Codsworth flew over to open it.

“Really, Paladin Danse, you must be more gentle,” he said reproachfully, to the figure on the other side. “This door is over two hundred years old, you know! Someone hammering on it in Power Armor isn't going to do it much good. If you take it off its hinges, then I'm afraid we may have to have _words_.”

“Sorry, Codsworth,” she heard Danse reply. “Could you ask Paladin de Havilland if she's ready to leave?”

“Why certainly, sir. Mum? Are you ready to leave?”

Margot drained her coffee and set the cup down on the table.

“Ready,” she called back. “Let me grab my kit.”

She snatched up the military-issue duffle bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“Hey, Mom!” Shaun called out, running after her. He was already up and dressed; she hadn't even known that he was awake yet. “If you see a caravan out there, can you ask them if they've got an old hot plate? I want to see if I can take it apart.”

“Sure, honey. I'll be back soon, okay? Be good for Codsworth.”

Shaun grabbed her round the middle and hugged her tightly.

“Mom, be careful if you see any giant ants out there! I don't want you to get hurt!”

“Don't worry, Shaun. Your mother will be safe with me,” Danse interjected, before Margot could reply. “I'll make sure nothing bad happens to her.”

Shaun looked across at him and grinned.

“Thanks, Mr. Danse. I'm glad you're taking care of my mom. I bet nothing can hurt you when you're in your Power Armor!”

“Not many things which can get through Power Armor,” Danse agreed. “But we'll be careful. Speaking of which, Paladin - you'd better suit up.”

Margot nodded at him, then bent down and kissed Shaun's forehead.

“Love you lots,” she told him solemnly.

“Love you lots too,” Shaun responded. “Don't forget about the hot plate, okay?”

“I won't, I promise!”

She and Danse waved goodbye, and marched over to the armory on the other side of the street. It was a two-story building made from wood, corrugated iron, scrap steel, concrete and whatever else she'd been able to get her hands on. The Minutemen kept their laser muskets and various other weapons and supplies on the upper floor of the building. The lower floor, however, was all Margot's; the tools and accoutrements of war were threatening to spill over into the next floor up as her impressive personal collection continued to grow. Guns and melee weapons of every kind were mounted on walls and locked in display cases; yellow Power Armor stations lined one wall like an honor guard, housing suit after suit of the armor she'd spent so much time carefully modifying and personalizing.

Danse's face lit up at the sight of the endless racks of Power Armor. He looked like a child on Christmas morning, thought Margot; one of the first things she'd learned about her superior officer was his deep appreciation for Power Armor, in all its many forms. His enthusiasm had been infectious. He'd begun by teaching her a few tricks to maintain her Brotherhood Knight armor, and from there, her new hobby had escalated into something which straddled the line between obsession and addiction. She'd learned how to clean, paint, shock-proof, line and winterize her armor; how to repair, replace and install parts; even how to make her own custom modifications and reverse-engineer components she'd salvaged from vanquished enemies.

Pride of place in her collection was the T-60d set which had belonged to her former mentor. Elder Maxson had gifted it to her after Danse's exile, along with the man's quarters and possessions, but it had been _Danse's_ armor, lovingly painted and maintained by the man himself, and tailored to his exact requirements. She'd had to put it on to take it back home from the _Prydwen_ , but she'd felt so dirty and ashamed at having stepped into it at all that she'd refused to wear it again. No matter what Maxson had told her, Danse's armor wasn't hers to use. Its previous owner still gave it longing looks whenever he entered the armory.

“So what's it going to be today?” Danse commented, behind her. “I'd recommend the X-01, myself. Once you've upgraded, trust me, you'll _never_ want to go back. X-01 Power Armor is an incredible piece of kit.”

Margot stopped beside her X-01 suit and considered the option.

“Nah. Too cumbersome. I want to keep my carry weight down if I can.”

“How about that one? With the Vault-Tec paint job?”

“A little garish, but at least they'll know it's me, right?” she said, with the smallest of grins. “Good old Blue, the Vault Dweller! No, I think I'll take the T-60f. I've been working on it the past few weeks and it's looking _sweet_. Especially with the new Paladin paint job. What do you think of the helmet? I put in a brighter headlamp a few days ago. Installed some rad scrubbers too.”

Danse gave a long, low whistle.

“Nice.”

She slammed a fusion core into the housing on the back and watched the suit open up. Danse looked on in admiration as she stepped up into the suit's frame, holding her arms outstretched, and let the armor fold shut around her. She took off the helmet and attached it to a ballistic fiber strap on her right hip. She shook out her hair.

“Good to go,” she reported. “Let's move out.”

“Affirmative, Paladin. You first.”

Margot strode out of the armory, armor clanking, her feet pounding against the ground. She was beginning to understand why Danse rarely took off his Power Armor; she felt taller, stronger, and damn near invincible in its comfortable confines. She looked like a cross between a warrior queen and a walking fortress, but that was a _good_ thing, out here in the wastes. Nobody with a lick of sense was going to take on a human tank wearing two tons of steel, swagger and Brotherhood Paladin paint.

Danse followed behind her. As they passed her house, Codsworth waved them off from the open front door.

“Farewell, mum. And you too, Paladin Danse. Good luck on your expedition!”

“Bye, Mom!” Shaun yelled, waving from behind Codsworth. “Bye, Mr. Danse!”

Margot waved back until they were almost out of sight of the house, then set her eyes on the road ahead. Golden sunlight was spilling out over the horizon and flooding across the Commonwealth, bringing a soft, ethereal glow to the early morning mist which wreathed the footbridge.

“ _Mr._ Danse,” said Danse out loud. “That's going to take some getting used to.”

“Nate had trouble adjusting to civilian life after he came back from Anchorage,” said Margot sympathetically, as they crossed the bridge. “It was hard for him to come home from the front lines and act like he'd never seen some of the things he'd seen. Like none of it ever happened, and he could just go back to what he was before. It wasn't quite that easy.”

“What did he do before he enlisted?”

Margot stopped, halfway across the bridge. She went to the edge and leaned over the handrail, looking down at the rushing waters of the river below. For a moment, she lost herself in her memories.

“After we graduated high school, we both went off to college,” she said at last. “I got my law diploma and passed the Massachusetts Bar exam so I could become a lawyer. Nate got a tech degree, went to work on one of the military bases as a civilian contractor for a while, and then he enlisted in the Army. When he was deployed to the front lines, I thought I might never see him again. But then they liberated Anchorage and he came home, and we were going to be so happy. Then it all went wrong. The bombs. That bastard Kellogg... I'll never, ever forgive that son of a bitch for what he did to my Nate. Not if I live to be another two hundred years old.”

“Does it help?” Danse asked her. “Going to Vault 111 to see him?”

She smiled weakly down at the water.

“Kind of. Sometimes I wonder if you were right and I should give him a proper burial. But it makes me feel better to go there and talk to him when things get too much. Seeing his face... sometimes I can't bear seeing him that way, but I miss him so much and - I don't know if I'm ready to let him go, Danse. Maybe I should. Hell, I know I should. I just don't know if I _can._ ”

She was almost in tears. Danse wanted to reach out and touch her, but he didn't dare to lay hands on her when she was so deeply buried in her grief. It didn't seem appropriate. He tried some comforting words instead.

“It's okay, soldier. You can remember the things you've loved without holding onto the pain of losing them,” he told her.

“And you've tried that, right? Has it worked for you?” she said shortly.

“No,” he confessed. “Not really. I'm sorry. It was the wrong thing to say.”

Margot's shoulders heaved in a sigh.

“No, it wasn't. It was good advice. Doesn't make it any easier to follow, but... you didn't say anything wrong, Danse. Thank you for trying. I appreciate it.”

She forced a smile back onto her face.

“Come on, we should get going. We've got a long way to go and we're wasting daylight.”

*

They stopped at Abernathy Farm, a little way south of Sanctuary Hills, for refreshment. The farmhouse had been built around the base of an old electricity pylon; it was a surprisingly sturdy structure, and the viewing platform at the top of the house's wooden tower provided a good view of the surrounding wasteland.

“General! What brings you here?”

Blake Abernathy, owner and proprietor, was working out in the fields. He'd been pruning one of the Tato plants, but now he was standing up to greet them.

“Just passing through, Mr. Abernathy,” said Margot, with a friendly wave. “We're on our way to Oberland Station. Was hoping we could use your water pump, though. It's hotter than Hell out here today.”

“Won't argue with you there. Help yourself, General. You too, Mr. Danse.”

“How's the new artillery working out?” Margot inquired. “Hope it's keeping the Raiders away this time.”

“Not a peep for almost two weeks now,” said Blake, leaning on the edge of the wire fence. He started to laugh. “Two weeks! Hah! I'm starting to think the firepower's scared them off for good! And that nice young man you sent over from The Castle to operate it seems to be getting along well with Lucy. I'm hoping she'll forget about that Hawthorne guy and take up with this one instead - at least he knows how to work the land around here. He's been a real help to me and Connie.”

“That's good to hear, Blake,” said Margot sincerely. Very sincerely. She'd spent countless hours running back and forth trying to protect her nearest neighbors from Raiders. “I'm glad things have finally started settling down around here...”

While they were busy talking, Danse went over to the water pump. A small gray tabby cat was curled up next to it on the deck, snoozing in the sunshine. He reached over to pet its stomach.

“Don't touch her,” warned a young woman sitting on the edge of the deck, and Danse immediately withdrew his hand. “Maisie's due to have her kittens any day now. If you and the General want to come back in a few weeks, you can take one with you to Sanctuary. I bet her kid would like that.”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea, citizen. I don't know how well Dogmeat gets along with cats,” Danse said uneasily.

“Dogmeat? Oh, he's a good dog, and he's always been fine with Maisie. I wouldn't worry about him,” said the woman, with a light wave of her hand. “But yeah, tell the General she can have one of the kittens if she wants. We won't be able to feed them all. I was thinking about sending one over to Finch Farm, and maybe taking a couple to Diamond City. Those rich folks in the Upper Stands can afford luxuries like pets.”

She passed Danse a tin cup and watched as he poured himself some water.

“You're Danse, right? Paladin Danse?”

“Just Danse these days,” he told her, in between gulps of water. “And you're... Lucy Abernathy?”

“Aww, you remembered!” laughed the girl. “Yeah, that's me. I was thinking about leaving and joining the Minutemen until the General sent Holmes over from The Castle. He's pretty cute. I hope he stays. So, are you here to help pick melons out back? We're still offering caps for anyone who wants to help us with the harvest.”

“No, we're just passing through. We're heading to Oberland Station.”

“Yeah, I heard about those ants,” said Lucy. “And that lady everyone's talking about on the old TV sets. That's weird, even for the Commonwealth. The offer about the melons still stands, by the way. If you're interested. I hate picking those damn things.”

“Actually, I was hoping you could help me with something else, Miss Abernathy,” said Danse. He set down the empty cup and fiddled nervously with a loose rivet on one of his gauntlets. “Do you know if there are any flowers growing around here?”

“Flowers? Why? What do you need 'em for?”

She stopped, and followed his line of sight to Margot.

“Oh,” she said, grinning. “I see...”

“It's _not_ that,” Danse said hotly. “She's been thinking a lot about her husband lately. She seems sad. I thought maybe a gift might cheer her up.”

Lucy Abernathy shrugged.

“Well, if you think flowers will do the trick, then by all means, go ahead. There's some carrot flowers growing down in that stand of trees, and a few Hubflower bushes, or you could pull some of the blossoms off those melons or Tatos. We don't have any use for them, so you might as well take them.”

“Outstanding. Thank you for your cooperation, citizen,” said Danse. He saluted smartly and got up from the deck.

“Caravan came through this morning from Tenpines Bluff,” said Blake Abernathy conversationally, as Margot gazed off into the distance. “Interesting news lately. You hear about those ants attacking the Brotherhood of Steel near University Point?”

Margot's attention snapped back to the farmer.

“Unfortunately, yes,” she said. “We heard about a sighting near Oberland Station too. We're heading there now to see if we can get to the bottom of it.”

Blake looked profoundly relieved.

“I'm glad someone is. Life's tough enough out here without that AgonyAnt woman, or whoever she is, weighing in on things. Travis was talking about her on the radio this morning. I'm not sure what her story is. All I know is she sounds like bad news...”

As her gaze drifted away again, Blake Abernathy followed it.

“That buddy of yours, the Brotherhood of Steel guy. What's his story?”

“Oh,” said Margot. She started to blush. She didn't realize it had been so obvious she was looking Danse's way. “It's quite a story. And pretty sad. He's been through a lot.”

“Haven't we all?” said the farmer, with a heavy sigh. “The girls took Mary's death very hard. She was the life and soul of this place, was our Mary. Damn Raiders. They get his family too?”

“No. He's not from around here. Capital Wasteland. Grew up as an orphan and enlisted with the Brotherhood, but... uh, something happened. He's not with them any more.”

“Poor bastard. I heard those boys don't take kindly to desertion. Wouldn't like to be in his shoes.”

“He didn't desert them, Blake. If anything, they deserted him.”

Blake looked taken aback.

“Well damn. That's a turn of events. Now you've got _me_ feeling sorry for him. Anything we can do to help?”

Margot smiled.

“I don't think so. But thank you for asking. Danse is a good man. I wish there was some way I could – I don't know. Make everything better. Give him some kind of purpose in his life again.”

“You should ask him to join the Minutemen,” Blake suggested. “He's military, isn't he? I'm sure he has plenty of training and combat experience, and I know Mr. Garvey would appreciate the help.”

“That's... actually not a bad idea,” said Margot, impressed by the suggestion. “Thanks, Blake. I might just do that.”

“You're welcome. Now you wanted some water, right? Go get a drink and shake the dust off your boots. Go easy near the Brahmin pen in that Power Armor, though. Clarabell gets spooked by the vibrations and thinks it's an earthquake. It took Connie half the day to shoo her out of the house last time a Brotherhood patrol came by.”

“Sure thing, Blake. Thanks again.”

Blake tipped his hat.

“No problem. You have a safe journey, General. Give the folks at Oberland our regards.”

Margot bid him goodbye and went over to the pump to draw herself some water. She splashed some on her face, then looked over her shoulder; Blake had returned to tending his Tato plants. It was a good crop. Recent rains had helped them to bear fruit a little sooner than usual.

There was a cough at her side.

“Margot?”

“Danse? What is – _oh..._ ”

She stood up hurriedly, pressing both hands to her burning cheeks. Danse was standing in front of her. He was holding a clumsy bouquet; delicate, lace-like yellow carrot flowers, and a few bluish-purple melon blossoms with crinkled crepe-paper petals.

“These are for you,” he said, a little bashfully. “After what you said earlier, I, uh – I thought they might cheer you up.”

Blushing furiously, he proffered the flowers.

Margot felt the smile spread across her face like wildfire, pulling at the corners of her mouth until she was sure she was grinning like an idiot, and even pinker in the face than the time she'd unwisely tried the repulsive food paste at Suffolk County Charter School; MacCready had hummed the _Pink Puma_ theme tune around her for a week after that little lapse in judgment.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “They're beautiful.”

 _You're beautiful_ , Danse wanted to burst out. She was radiant in the sunshine, brown eyes sparkling, and dark hair shining like the surface of the sea. The smile on her face seemed to have channeled something of the sun itself; it was big enough to light up the whole world, and bright enough to make him feel hot all over.

“We should probably get going, soldier,” he found himself blurting out instead. “We've still got a long way to travel.”

Margot took a long sniff of her bouquet. It smelled like spring; cold fruit, and warm earth.

“Okay. Let's get going.”

She charged ahead in her Power Armor, racing toward the sun as it rose higher in the sky. Danse followed behind her, with his heart sinking back down in his chest. If only he'd had a little more resolve...

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself, and kicked his own ankle.

*

As the sun progressed on its long, lazy arc through a perfectly blue sky, Margot and Danse found themselves following the remains of the old railroad across the Commonwealth.

Being out in the sunlight and fresh air had improved Margot's spirits, but as they passed Graygarden, she couldn't help noticing that Danse seemed downcast. Once in a while, he'd scowl and kick a pebble down the road. If there wasn't a pebble available, he'd kick a rusted tin can, or even his own foot.

In the direct way of most boys his age, Shaun had observed over dinner last night that Danse seemed “kind of sad, and serious”, and suggested that his mother tell him some jokes to cheer him up. She'd reminded her son that Danse's feelings were none of his business and that it was rude to make personal remarks, although privately she'd been impressed by Shaun's perception.

Danse had always been serious-minded and conscientious. He'd occasionally spoken of his concerns for the men and women in his care, and pondered aloud as to whether the decisions he'd made for them had been the right ones. She'd seen the regret in his eyes when he'd spoken about Cutler and how he'd been forced to put his best friend out of his misery.

The sadness, however, was something new. The Brotherhood of Steel had been the man's life, and he'd served it gladly, with body and soul, striving constantly to become the perfect soldier and earning countless scars in the name of his order. Now that existence was over; being cast out of military life for good had left him with scars of an entirely different stripe, including the air of melancholy which seemed to have settled around him like a Boston morning fog. To his credit, though, he was still here, picking himself up out of the dust and trying to start his life all over again. That took a different kind of strength, Margot decided, and not the kind that Power Armor and weight training could give you. She wished with all her heart that she could think of a way to help.

An idea struck her, and a smile stole across her lips.

“Hey, Danse!” she called out, running to catch him up. “You ever hear the one about the rabbi, the Ghoul and the Super Mutant?”

Danse looked over his shoulder at her.

“No,” he said. “Why, do you have some intel for me?”

“It's a joke, Danse. Want to hear it?”

“All right. Let's hear it.”

Margot grinned.

“So a rabbi, a Ghoul and a Super Mutant all walk into The Third Rail in Goodneighbor. They each buy a drink and start talking about their wives...”

“Super Mutants don't have wives,” said Danse, with a small frown. “Or genitalia for that matter. Our Scribes have made extensive study of those abhorrent creatures, and Super Mutants are incapable of reproduction by any means other than subjecting other creatures to the Forced Evolutionary Virus. Marriage is an entirely foreign concept to them.”

Margot gave him a frosty look.

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Sorry,” said Danse sheepishly. “I assume you're taking some artistic license. Go on.”

“So the rabbi, the Ghoul and the Super Mutant start talking about their wives...”

Danse listened patiently, walking side by side with her as she recounted the joke. On the other side of a picket fence, a few Mister Handy robots were clipping leaves and twigs from rows of Mutfruit trees, while their robotic supervisors flitted around in the bombed-out greenhouse and tended to planters of corn and carrots.

“... and then the rabbi says, _Oy, vey._ You mean I've been holding my Fat Man the wrong way this whole time?” Margot finished, accompanying the punchline with a big grin.

Danse paused in his progress to look at her. She was beginning to wonder if she needed to explain the joke when his face suddenly cleared. He began to snicker; a second later, he was almost doubled over, convulsed with laughter. The sound roared out of him like water from a broken dam.

“Like that one?” she said, still grinning.

“You probably shouldn't tell that one in front of Shaun, soldier,” he said, when he finally regained control of himself. “But yes, I liked it. It's been a while since anybody told me a joke.”

“Well, if you liked that one, you're going to _love_ this. How many Super Mutants does it take to change a lightbulb?”

“Uh...”

“Three,” Margot told him. “One to hold the lightbulb in place, and two to spin the ladder.”

Danse cracked up again.

“Okay, I have one,” he said, when he'd recovered. “How about this? Why did the Robobrain get angry with Proctor Ingram?”

“I don't know. Why?”

“ _She kept pushing her buttons_ ,” said Danse proudly.

Margot laughed.

“Danse, that's terrible. Almost worthy of MacCready.”

“You think that's bad, try this. Why did the Knight and the Mirelurk get into a fistfight? Because they were both feeling crabby!”

“Now that's just _dreadful_ ,” Margot groaned, and hid her face behind her bouquet. “You weren't kidding.”

Danse laughed heartily anyway. It was like seeing a ray of sunlight break through thick clouds, she thought, as she looked across at him. Danse rarely laughed or smiled, but when he did, the delight which lit up his face from the inside was as contagious as his boyish enthusiasm for Power Armor, or old copies of _Hot Rodder_ , or even the Pre-War pulp magazines which he used to hide in old U.S. Covert Operations manuals.

She smiled as she remembered the time she'd found out about Danse's secret passion for _Astoundingly Awesome Tales_. She'd noticed one night on the _Prydwen_ that her mentor seemed unusually engrossed in his reading material. When she'd finally peeked over his shoulder and called him out for pretending to be interested in outdated military procedures and sneakily reading outlandish tales of aliens and sea monsters instead, he'd looked embarrassed - in the goofy kind of way she was starting to find very endearing - but he'd taken well to her suggestion that he go and read to the Squires. He'd spent half the night reading to the wide-eyed little Brotherhood kids as they sat up in their bunks, enthralled by a ridiculous story about giant insect invasions. He'd even put on voices to match the characters; Danse's absurd high-pitched rendition of a damsel in distress had made them all fall about laughing. It had been the first time she'd ever heard him laugh out loud.

“I like it when you laugh,” she told him. “You have a nice laugh. I wish I heard it more often.”

“Life in the Commonwealth is no laughing matter, I'm afraid,” said Danse, rather more soberly. His smile was beginning to fade away. “There's not much out here that makes me happy any more.”

“How about me?”

Danse opened his mouth in shock.

“I – uh – well, I...” he stammered, and rubbed the back of his neck.

Margot giggled at the look on his face.

“Oh, Danse. Should I take that as a yes?”

He nodded, his cheeks flushing almost crimson.

“And there was me thinking you were a big grumpy Paladin who didn't like anybody,” she teased him. “Well, I'm glad I can put a smile on your face once in a while. Hey, it's a tough job, but somebody has to do it, right?”

Danse patted her on the back.

“Keep up the good work, soldier,” he told her. “Now come on, we're almost there. Race you to Oberland Station?”

Margot raised one perfect eyebrow.

“Is that a challenge, Danse?” she said. She put her hand on her hip and gave him a cool stare, with only the faintest twitch of a smirk on her lips. “Because that sounds kind of like a challenge to me...”

“I wouldn't exactly call it a _challenge_ ,” said Danse. He chuckled softly at her look of outrage. “All right, no need for that face, Paladin. I'm only kidding. But if you're up for a real challenge, then why don't we make things interesting?”

“Caps? Ugh, fine. How much?”

“No caps. Last one there has to wear a dress for a week.”

Margot grinned evilly.

“Oh, it's on! I hope you like sequins, Danse! You're going to look _fabulous_!”

“Oh no you don't!” he warned, as she took off, laughing, following the rusted and overgrown rails south along the railroad bridge which spanned the river. He started to run after her, clambering over a fallen railroad car and what remained of its cargo, and then jumping back down onto the tracks. “You're the one who's going to wear that dress, soldier! Come back here!”

“Make me!” she yelled over her shoulder.

“Insubordination!” Danse bellowed after her, but he found to his amazement that he was enjoying himself. He started to laugh again as he chased her across the bridge. When was the last time he'd felt this _alive?_

His pace was starting to slow; his Power Armor seemed heavier around him, and less responsive. A set of low-pitched warning beeps sounded. He looked down at the readouts on his suit. The fusion core was almost depleted.

“What's the matter?” Margot called out. She was jogging backward in her Power Armor, still laughing as he tried to close the gap between them. “Out of juice? Or trying to work out if you'd look better in red or purple?”

She saw Danse's eyes widen.

“Margot!” he yelled.

“What?” she said, grinning. “If you think I'm going to - ”

Too late, she realized he'd been trying to warn her. Her heel caught the edge of a half-buried rail and she toppled backward, tumbling down the slope of the embankment. A cry of fright issued from her lips as she tried to put out her arms to stop herself, but the world kept spinning in increasingly wild circles as she bounced and rolled down the hill.

“ _Margot!”_

She caught a brief, dizzy glimpse of Danse jumping down the slope, but he landed unevenly on his feet and lost his balance; he stumbled, and fell after her.

Dead trees, grass and strange fungi rolled past her vision in a blur of brown, gray and orange, interrupted by the occasional flash of blue sky. She wondered in a panic how far she was going to fall, and if she might end up in the river, dragged beneath the surface by the weight of her armor.

Suddenly, there were arms around her. Strong arms, made stronger by steel, grabbing her and pulling her into a close embrace to halt her descent.

“Got you!”

Gasping, she clung to Danse, burying her face in the scuffed armor plating which covered his chest.

“Oh God,” she repeated. “Oh God. Thank you. I'm sorry, Danse, I was being _stupid_ , I never should have - ”

“It's okay,” said Danse. He was panting slightly. “I've got you. Are you hurt?”

Margot shook her head.

“No, I don't think so. I feel like I'm going to puke, but I think that's just the motion blur. Ugh.”

“You're very lucky, soldier. You could have broken your neck falling like that,” Danse said brusquely. “Or ended up in the river. You ever tried to swim in Power Armor? There's a reason you haven't. You _can't._ It would have dragged you down and you would have drowned. And then where would you be?”

“Uh... at the bottom of the river?” said Margot groggily.

Danse's eyebrows plummeted downward.

“Jokes? Really? At a time like this? This is serious, Margot! You could have been badly injured, or even killed! You have to be more careful! You can't – _I_ can't - ”

There was anger in his eyes, but there was something else as well, thought Margot, as she stared up at him and tried to force the world back into focus. Panic. He'd been worried about her. She felt her heart twist itself up into anxious knots.

“You can't what?” she said, still breathing heavily from the fall.

“I can't lose you like that,” Danse burst out, with a more desperate note in his voice. “Not in some stupid accident which could have been prevented. Please, Margot... _please._ Don't be careless with your own safety. There are people out there who need you to come home in one piece. Shaun, Codsworth and Dogmeat, and the Brotherhood, and the Minutemen, and - ”

 _And me_ , she realized. That was what he was trying to say. He needed her too. Of course he did. She was probably all he had left. Ashamed of her own recklessness, she closed her eyes, hoping that her blurred view of the Commonwealth would clear when she finally opened them.

Something patted the side of her face.

“Hey. Hey! Stay with me, Paladin,” she heard him order. “Are you sure you didn't hit your head?”

Her eyelashes fluttered reluctantly open.

“Yeah. No injuries. Just some wounded pride, that's all. That and the fact the world won't stop spinning.”

“It's supposed to spin.”

“Not _that_ fast.”

She struggled to sit up, but Danse was still holding her tightly. Helpless in an ironclad embrace, she looked up at him and saw warm, worried brown eyes looking straight back down at her. His face was an inch or two away, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her neck. His mouth seemed uncomfortably close to hers.

“Danse?” she whispered.

“Yes?”

“I... I think I lost my flowers. I'm sorry. I must have dropped them when I fell.”

The tension which had been building between them collapsed in an instant. Danse just shook his head.

“Don't worry about it. They were only flowers. We can pick some more on the way home if you want. I'm just glad you're not injured - that was one hell of a fall. I thought you were going to end up in the river for sure.”

He helped her back into a sitting position, then onto her feet.

“Thank you,” said Margot, dusting off her armor.

“Don't mention it. Now we - ”

A tiny sound interrupted him mid-sentence. Danse looked around sharply, his face tensing into a tight frown of concentration.

“Shh. Did you hear that?” he whispered.

Margot nodded. Her throat was tightening.

Danse reached for the laser rifle he'd slung across his back. The almost-imperceptible buzz rose to a low whine as he primed it for use and slotted a new fusion cell into place.

“On me,” he mouthed, and made a gesture for her to follow him.

Normally, she took point. He'd told her once that her instincts were right on target. Now, however, Margot didn't have any objection to letting Danse take the lead. Still reeling a little from her unexpected trip downhill, she followed him, crouching down and tiptoeing around the remains of a stand of trees.

She could hear the noise more clearly now. A faint crawling, clicking sound. Dry sounds, like sandpaper across a rock, or pebbles falling against each other. Sounds which evoked images of deserts and harsh winds, and a burning sun beating down on bare, irradiated earth.

Danse held up a hand.

“Hold up,” he said quietly. “You see that?”

Margot unclipped her helmet and pulled it over her head. She'd made some modifications to the T-60f suit's helmet after finding a pair of night-vision goggles in an old military base; as well as allowing her to see better at night, they provided a degree of magnification. Infrared vision turned the Commonwealth a bleak gray-green, but she could see for miles, even at night.

She panned her head a few degrees left to see what Danse was looking at, and jumped a little when she saw it.

“Well, fuck me sideways,” she said, in a low whisper. “Minuteman Turner wasn't kidding. Are you seeing this, Danse?”

“Affirmative,” Danse whispered back. “Keep quiet. Let's see if we can get closer.”

Margot took off her helmet again and ducked as low as she could as they crept forward. Power Armor was spectacularly ill-suited for stealth missions, she remembered, cursing inwardly; she was painfully aware of every scrape, squeak and clank which accompanied her movements. She needed her Vault 111 jumpsuit, which soundlessly hugged every curve of her body. She needed her soft leather armor, which she'd spent three patient evenings darkening with black paint and charcoal residue until it allowed her to blend seamlessly with the night. Not two tons of earth-shattering technology which made her sound like a one-man band, or at least a one-woman army, no matter how much protection it afforded.

There was an ant on the other side of a band of rocks. It was covered in a dull reddish-brown carapace and it moved in the same way as the ants of the old world, but it was tens, perhaps hundreds of times larger than its Pre-War counterparts; about the same height as Dogmeat, and easily the length of a Brahmin. Until today, she'd never considered ants to be a threat to anything more significant than a family picnic, but there was a strange sort of menace in the creature's movements, and something indefinably _alien_ about those chomping mandibles and multifaceted black eyes which sent cold shudders down her spine.

It wasn't alone. There were two more, crawling around on the rocks. One of them had picked up a half-smashed melon and was attempting to drag it into a mound of earth.

“That must be the entrance to their nest,” said Danse. His voice was soft in her ear. “Filthy creatures.”

“How long do you think they've been here?” she whispered back.

“Hard to say. A week? Perhaps a little less. The ant hill still appears to be under construction. I wonder how far down the tunnels extend...”

“Probably too far. Look at the size of those things. If they keep digging all the way to Oberland Station, they'll undermine the whole place. We can't let that happen.”

Danse looked at her, then back at the ants. The creatures seemed oblivious to their presence.

“Are you suggesting that we wipe them out, Paladin? I thought we were on reconnaissance, not extermination detail. While I have no objection to destroying an invasive species, there may not be anything left in the way of clues by the time we're done.”

Margot scowled, and unpacked her laser rifle.

“That's a risk I'm willing to take. I'll be _damned_ if I'll let one of my settlements fall into a sinkhole after all the work we've done to get this place going! These people are counting on the Minutemen to intervene before their home collapses into the ground. And we're going to do just that.”

Danse looked at her in surprise.

“ _We're?”_

“General de Havilland and Captain Danse, Commonwealth Minutemen,” she said, with a wink. “It's about time we had a Power Armored special response unit. How about it, soldier? Willing to step up and protect the Commonwealth at a minute's notice? Are you ready to defend innocent people from Raiders, Gunners, mutants and other assorted menaces, at all hours of the day and night, whatever the weather?”

Danse's grip tightened on his laser rifle.

“I think I like the sound of that.”

“Excellent. Welcome to the Minutemen, Danse. You ready?”

He saluted; not the way a Brotherhood soldier did, with their right arm folded across their chest and their fist clenched against their heart, but the way Nate had saluted his commanding officers, years and years ago. She had no idea when or where he'd learned to salute the old-school way, but there was something charming about the way he'd adopted the Pre-War gesture so readily.

“Ready!”

“Good. We're going in. Weapons free! _For the Commonwealth!_ ”

Margot jumped out from behind the rocks and sprinted toward the ants, all fear forgotten in the mad rush of the charge. She raised her laser rifle and took aim at the closest ant.

_Whommmm._

She loved the sound of laser fire. There was something thrilling about the kickback against her shoulder, the sharp smell of ozone, and the ruby-red beam which issued forth from the weapon like a ray of pure vengeance, all accompanied by that magical sound:

_Whomm. Whommmmm._

The first ant disintegrated into a pile of white-hot ash, dissolved in an instant by a critical hit. Behind her, Danse was snarling “Light 'em up!” and bombarding the two remaining ants with laser beams. Her laser rifle was more powerful, but best suited to sniping from a distance; his was rapid-fire, for close and medium range, and he always followed his own advice by firing short, controlled bursts.

The second ant reared up angrily and scuttled toward them, making a clicking noise in its outrage; the third followed it.

“Ha! These things aren't so tough,” Margot announced, squinting a little as she took aim. “Did they really kill a Yao Guai? It must have been a really sick Yao Guai. They're not even - ”

She caught a waft of something in the air; an acrid chemical scent, shimmering like heat haze in the air. It was coming from the mouth of the second ant. Mandibles clicked together, and then a blast of heat and sound knocked her onto her back. Flames were licking at her scorched Power Armor; she could smell singed hair.

“Breathing fire,” she finished, with a sigh. “Great. Just great. The one time a Minutemen intel report turns out to be totally accurate, it had to be _today_.”

_I knew I should have kept my helmet on. Goodbye eyebrows._

“Maintain position!” Danse ordered. He kicked away the other ant with enough force to catapult the creature straight into a dead, fallen tree; it immediately righted itself and came back at him again.

Margot scrambled to her feet and fired off another shot from her laser rifle, then another, and another.

_Whomm. Whomm-whomm._

The second ant staggered beneath crippled legs, then died, curling up and flipping over onto its back. The third arched its back and made a shrill skittering noise.

“What the - ”

The entrance to the ant mound exploded in a shower of soil and fire. Ants poured out, swarming everywhere. Margot screamed and almost dropped her rifle.

“Shit!”

“Send them back to Hell!” Danse roared, over the noise of a dozen furious, chittering fire ants. He donned the helmet of his Power Armor and threw himself straight back into the fight, wading through the mass of spindly limbs and stomping down hard on heads and thoraxes. He started firing again, hurling aside an ant unwise enough to try to clamp down on his arm.

The air was thick with fire, smoldering ant remains and ash as they battled their way through the sea of ants. Still they kept coming, flooding out from their ant hill; there seemed to be no end to the onslaught.

“Oh, _fuck_ this,” declared Margot. She put down her laser rifle and crouched to rummage in her duffle bag. Her fingers closed around a fragmentation grenade.

“What are you doing?” Danse yelled, his voice distorted through his helmet. “Keep firing!”

“Danse, we have to stop them or we're going to be overrun!”

She yanked out the pin and tossed the grenade in the direction of the ant mound. It landed neatly in the opening – all those years playing skee-ball at the arcade with Nate had paid off, she thought triumphantly.

“Fire in the hole!” she bellowed, crouching down and covering her ears.

The explosion rocked them both off their feet. Earth and fragments of ant carapace rained down around them. Margot could hear a high-pitched ringing in her ears as she struggled into a kneeling position, but she took up her rifle again and mopped up the survivors.

_Whommm. Whommm._

“Mission accomplished,” she said proudly. _“Ad victoriam_.”

They got to their feet and surveyed the area. The ant mound was now a smoking ruin, collapsed in on itself. Severed ant legs and fragments of antennae and exoskeleton lay all around them, as well as several intact, dead ants, limbs still twitching in a mindless motor response.

Danse removed his helmet again.

“Good work, soldier,” he said. “I see you've been practicing with your explosive ordnance. Your aim's improved significantly.”

“Coming from you, that's quite a compliment. Thank you.”

Margot picked up the partly-severed head of a dead ant and wrenched it away from the body.

“I think this'll look good on the wall of the Minutemen barracks,” she said, smirking. “Or maybe the bar. Come on, let's head up to Oberland Station and check in with the settlers. They're going to want to hear all about this little adventure...”

*

“Minuteman Turner!”

A swarthy young man in a Minuteman's shirt, short-sleeved yellow jacket and jeans turned round and removed his sunglasses.

“General!” he said, scrambling to doff his hat and salute at the same time. He bent to pick up his hat from the dirt and replaced it on his head. “Wh- what brings you out here, ma'am?”

“This,” said Margot, tossing the severed ant head at his feet; the man recoiled, and took a few steps backward, almost tripping over the raised concrete steps of the artillery platform. “I received your report via one of the caravans. As you can probably tell from Exhibit A on the ground there, Captain Danse and I have taken care of the ants you told us about.”

“We _believe_ we've taken care of them,” Danse interrupted her. “But you should tell the settlers to be mindful. A few stragglers may still attempt to return to the nest. I recommend avoiding the immediate area for the next few days.”

“One of the lookouts said they thought they heard an explosion earlier,” said Turner timidly. “Was that you, ma'am? Sir?”

“That was us,” Margot confirmed. “We dropped a grenade into the ant mound - that should take care of the bastards for you. But Captain Danse is right. Be careful in the vicinity, in case any more of them come back to see what happened to their friends, or if others try to rebuild the nest. Tell everyone to keep their eyes open, okay?”

“Will do, ma'am. So they're gone?”

“As far as we can ascertain at this time, yes, they're gone,” Danse answered.

Turner looked relieved.

“That's good to hear, sir. They hadn't wandered into the settlement yet, but some of the other settlers were getting spooked. Especially after they burned that Yao Guai to death. If they can do that, who knows what might have happened if they made their way up here? They could have attacked one of the kids, or the Brahmin... and I overheard one of the caravan traders threatening to drop our section of their route if the ants weren't taken care of. Said they weren't going to risk their cargo getting burned up. Bad for business.”

“I understand,” said Margot. “I know you can't manage without the provisioners coming through. But you don't have to worry about that any more. We'll tell the caravans that Oberland Station is still open for business.”

“Thank you, ma'am. We really appreciate the help. If you could tell Colonel Garvey to put the word out on Radio Freedom...”

Margot gave him her warmest smile.

“Of course we will. Thank you again for your report. Stay vigilant, Minuteman.”

“Yes, ma'am! You can count on me!”

“Very good. You may return to your post.”

Turner saluted again, and climbed back up the steps to man the artillery position once more.

“ _Colonel_ Garvey?” said Danse, as they turned their backs and went further into the settlement. There was a roughly-built farmhouse tucked behind the white wooden railroad tower; Margot had built it with the help of the first two settlers, and with some reluctant assistance from Cait, who'd grumbled about helping a two-bit farming outfit when she could have been off getting drunk in Diamond City instead. The settlement had expanded a little since those early days – the population was now up to ten, not including the herd of two-headed Brahmin cows which meandered through the dead trees.

“Yes,” said Margot. “That's his official title, although I think he's too modest to use it. Preston always was more of a man-of-the-people type. He prefers Preston, or Mr. Garvey if people really insist.”

Danse looked as though he disapproved.

“He should take pride in his rank and use it accordingly,” he said. “Refraining from using his correct title might encourage his subordinates to believe that he doesn't need to be treated with the proper respect, and that they need not refer to him by rank. It's bad for discipline and could potentially destabilize the whole command structure of the Minutemen.”

“I'll be sure to remind him,” said Margot sarcastically, as they picked their way through the small fenced field of Tato plants. “In fact, I'll take that under advisement, _Captain_ Danse. But I'm the General here, okay? Don't you forget that. You make sure you use the rank befitting my station at all times. Especially in private.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, with a brisk salute.

Margot burst out laughing.

“I'm only kidding. Don't you dare call me General when we're alone. Or Paladin, okay? It's Margot. Just Margot. Okay?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Ugh,” she moaned. “Give me a break, Stuart. You're killing me.”

“Danse,” he corrected her.

Margot's face fell.

“Oh. You don't like Stuart?”

“No, Stuart is fine. I haven't changed my mind. But you've _always_ called me Danse.”

“All right, have it your way. We'll stick to being Margot and Danse, the Intrepid Wasteland Duo, if that's what you want.”

Danse smiled.

“I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Margot gave him a sidelong look, and then a smile of her own.

“I know you wouldn't.”

A scream from the other side of the settlement interrupted the peaceful sounds of farming. Margot cringed.

“Shit, I forgot about the ant head! I'd better go grab that...”

Danse watched as she hurried away to retrieve her trophy and scooped up the ant's head from the ground.

“Sorry, Fiona!” she was trying to console a hysterical female settler. “It's from one of the ants we killed earlier. Nothing to worry about... no, they're all gone, they can't hurt anybody now they're dead... no, I don't know if they were anything to do with the AntAgonizer. I was hoping someone could tell me more about how they got here. Have there been any more broadcasts today? Any news from the caravans?”

Margot had a gift for talking people down when they were upset, thought Danse, finally permitting himself a smile. It didn't take long for the settler's hysteria to subside; within moments she was telling Margot what she'd heard about the AntAgonizer, and the latest news from the caravan traders, as if nothing had happened and seeing the General of the Minutemen with a severed head in the crook of her arm was an everyday occurrence.

Something in Danse's suit beeped; to his consternation, the Power Armor unfolded around him, spitting him back out into the open. He cursed, and rushed to grab his spare fusion core so he could climb straight back in, but stopped when he felt a hand on his back.

“Hey,” he heard Margot say behind him. “Why don't you stay out of that thing for a little while? It's about time we stopped for lunch anyway. Getting into a fight always makes me hungry.”

Danse's stomach growled.

“Me too,” he said, in spite of his natural reluctance to admit to weaknesses like hunger, thirst, or fatigue. “All right. We'll reconvene and head out again after we've had our field rations.”

“Rations? Codsworth won't be pleased to hear you refer to his lovingly-prepared picnic lunch as _rations_ ,” said Margot, with one arched eyebrow, as she ejected herself from her own Power Armor.

A passing child spotted them; a small boy, about eight years old. His face split into a huge grin when he saw their Power Armor suits standing empty.

“You have Power Armor? Cool! I wanna try!” he announced, reaching up toward the fusion core housing on Margot's suit.

“Hey! Hands off!” Danse said gruffly, swatting the boy's hand away. “Power Armor is not a toy, civilian! It's for use by authorized personnel only!”

The boy glared at him.

“You're not the boss of me!” he snapped.

“Hey,” said Margot, in softer, more persuasive tones. She gave the boy's shoulder a friendly pat. “Sorry, kiddo, but Captain Danse is right. You need to be trained how to use Power Armor before you get into it. It's not safe to use it if you don't know how it works first. Maybe next time I'm in town, I can teach you how to operate it safely. One day, when you're all grown up, maybe you can even build your own suit. How about that?”

The boy brightened up again.

“You mean like the Atom Cats? Sweet! Wait till I tell my dad I'm going to learn how to use Power Armor! Hey, Dad! Guess what the General just told me?”

He dashed off into the farmhouse.

“What?” said Danse, in response to the stern look Margot gave him. “He could have been injured. Power Armor is serious business; there are a lot of moving parts, and the fusion cores can be hazardous if the radiation shielding is compromised. And besides, he could have damaged it. You spent hours on all that custom work. What if he'd scratched the paint?”

“Oh, Danse. Loosen up, will you?” she said impatiently. “He's just a kid. Didn't you get curious about stuff like Power Armor when you were a kid?”

“I wouldn't know,” Danse said, with a hopeless look. “Remember? I'm a synth. Synths don't have childhoods. Except Shaun, of course.”

The sternness melted away from Margot's expression, and her eyes grew soft and sad.

“I... I'm sorry. Sometimes I still forget. Come on, let's grab something to eat. I'm sure we'll both feel better after lunch.”

*

Lunch was a carton of Salisbury Steak each, with a side of InstaMash, and some Dandy Boy Apples for dessert. They sat in the shade of the caravan trading post's bright red canopy, and washed it down with a can of the purified water Codsworth dispensed from his condenser unit.

“Ahh, nothing like a good lunch after a good fight,” Margot said, with a sigh of satisfaction. “Can't beat Pre-War food. You can hardly even tell it's two centuries old.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” said Danse, with less certainty. “But I'll take what I can get out here. It's hard finding good food out in the field.”

“You know, I heard they started making these things again,” Margot remarked. She crumpled the empty boxes and threw them onto the campfire. “Some old processed food plant out in the Capital Wasteland. One of the caravaners told me someone cleared out a bunch of Ghouls from before the war and got the old machinery started up somehow. Wonder how they managed to find all the salt, sugar and artificial colorings that used to go into this stuff.”

“Probably better that you don't ask,” said Danse, grimacing. “Remember that canned food place you and Piper found?”

Margot pulled an even more grotesque face.

“Oh God. Don't remind me about Longneck Lukowski's. It took Piper a full ten minutes to stop throwing up. I'm never eating potted meat ever again.”

“Ghouls,” said Danse, shaking his head. “Damn Ghouls. It makes me sick just thinking about them being anywhere near a food source. Never mind _being_ a food source.”

Margot gagged at the recollection.

“Danse, stop talking _right now_. Don't make me waste good food. And will you please give it a rest about Ghouls for once? Ghouls aren't bad. Just the Ferals. Hancock and Daisy are okay, and so are the folks at The Slog. You should be a little more civil to them when we're out and about.”

“You can think what you like, Margot, but don't complain to me when their brains carry on degenerating from radiation and they turn Feral on you without warning,” sighed Danse. “And don't say I didn't warn you, either. It's not that I don't feel sorry for Ghouls... poor irradiated bastards. But they're ticking time-bombs, and when they eventually go off, I'm putting them down. No arguments.”

“If or when the time comes, they'd probably be grateful for that,” said Margot. “Let's hope it never does.”

“Agreed.”

They stared into the dancing flames of the fire.

“Let's talk about something more cheerful,” said Margot suddenly. “Say... I don't know. Tell me three things I don't know about you.”

Danse appeared to give the question a great deal of thought.

“My favorite color is orange,” he said at last. “I like cats. And when I was first learning how to use Power Armor, I accidentally stepped on Paladin Krieg's foot and broke his toes.”

Margot laughed.

“I knew about at least two of those things! But not Paladin Krieg. Poor guy. All right. How about your scars? Always wondered, never liked to ask.”

Danse pointed to the curved scar that cut downward through his right eyebrow, and the much longer one which accompanied it down his eye-socket and cheek.

“Deathclaw attack. Capital Wasteland. It surprised us on patrol near Old Olney. The medic with our squad said I was lucky it didn't take out my eye. I'm not sure how many stitches I needed. I think I passed out after thirty. No anesthetic.”

Margot winced.

“Ouch. How about that one?”

Danse raised his fingers to the scar gouged into his left cheek.

“Vertibird crash during a training exercise. The pilot and I both survived, but I'm sorry to say that Aspirant Lawrence wasn't so fortunate.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's all right. He died instantly and didn't suffer. His name and deeds will live on in the Codex.”

Margot pointed to a much smaller scar near his ear.

“And that one? Take on a whole pack of Feral Ghouls with a butter knife, or something equally daring and heroic?”

“I, uh... cut myself shaving,” he said, looking abashed.

“And there was me thinking you kept the stubble just to make the ladies swoon,” said Margot, with a wink at him.

Danse went red.

“Uh... your turn,” he said. “Three things I don't know about you?”

Margot struggled to think of something in response. Eventually, she said:

“I was named valedictorian in my high school class; if I recall correctly, I gave a pretty kickass graduation speech. When I was studying law at Suffolk County, I broke my sorority's record for most tequila shots downed in a single evening. And - ”

_Nate and I got it on in the park one night after a romantic picnic and ended up conceiving our son. When I was a kid, I used to have a crush on the guy who played Captain Cosmos on TV. I still miss seeing my damn law school diploma on the shelf. And the more time I spend with you, Danse, the more I hate it when you're not there._

“I... uh... I like to dance to Diamond City Radio in my underwear when nobody's around.”

She'd made that one up, but she found herself blushing anyway.

_Really, Margot? That's less embarrassing than admitting you still miss your stupid law diploma in an apocalyptic wasteland that doesn't give two fucks about the ins and outs of Constitutional amendments? Why on earth did you make up something like that? Poor Danse looks like he's about to die of awkwardness!_

Danse crossed his legs uncomfortably.

“Well. That was a rather unexpected admission. Possibly more than I needed to know.”

“Yeah, that might have been a little too much information,” she said, more awkwardly. “You know what, I'm just going to get back in my Power Armor so we can go.”

“That's probably a good idea,” Danse suggested. “You go on ahead. I'll pack up our gear.”

Margot nodded, and disappeared. He waited until she was out of sight, then looked down and let out a small groan.

_Damn it. I don't think I can make it to the water pump from here. I guess it's the river._

He leaned forward and rummaged in Margot's kit bag until he found a bottle of Rad-X. He poured out a couple of the potassium iodide capsules and dry-swallowed them, then put the bottle back in the duffle bag and ran madly downhill for the river.

He stopped just short of the shore – he'd never liked water much – but eventually decided to take his chances, and waded down the riverbank until he was up to his waist in chilly river water.

_Okay, Danse. That's a good start. Now think about things which aren't Margot dancing in her underwear to “Atom Bomb Baby”. Think about the imminent threat of Mirelurks. Or how many rads you're sucking down just by standing in this filthy water. Or... or an Assaultron in a bikini. Something that'll make your blood run cold, so you can go back out there without disgracing yourself or your uniform. What the hell's gotten into you lately, anyway? Paladin de Havilland's presence never used to get under your skin before. Why now?_

“Danse! What the hell are you doing in there?”

He jumped, guiltily, and looked over at the riverbank. Margot was standing on the shore, her arms folded in impatience. She was back in her Power Armor and had her duffle bag and laser rifle slung across her shoulders. One of the dead ant's antennae was poking out through the top of the bag in a slightly unnerving fashion.

“Uh...”

“For the love of God, man,” she said, exasperated. “I know synths are supposed to be resistant to radiation, but that doesn't make them completely immune! Get out of there before you drop dead from radiation poisoning!”

“Apologies. I got a little overheated after sitting too close to the fire, and needed to cool down,” Danse lied. “Don't worry, I took some Rad-X before I jumped in here.”

“I don't care if you took every chem in the Commonwealth and injected some Addictol into your ass for good measure! Get out of that water, right now! That's an order!”

Danse had never surrendered in a fight before, ever, but he knew when he was beaten. There was no arguing with that voice. He slunk shamefully out of the river and returned to the shore.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed your swim, Captain, because we have to go,” Margot said, unfolding her arms. “I promised Shaun I'd bring him back that hot plate. If we hurry, we can make it to the market at Starlight Drive-In before the traders start closing up for the night. And I think you could use some new clothes. Preferably dry ones. Do you even _have_ any clothes beside your uniform?”

“Negative.”

“Fine, we'll get you some new clothes while we're there. Come on, get back in your Power Armor so we can hit the road.”

Danse took another step forward, then staggered a little and clutched at his head. Pain shot through the back of his skull, white-hot in its intensity. The world started to blur.

“Oh no. Not again,” he muttered. “Please, not now...”

Margot's irritation was wiped instantly from her face; the look was replaced with one of tender concern.

“Headaches still bothering you?” she said.

“How do you know about the headaches?” Danse said, with a grunt. Agony was sucking the color from his cheeks.

“I read your medical files on the _Prydwen_ after Maxson and Quinlan outed you as a synth,” said Margot matter-of-factly. “I was hoping to be able to prove them both wrong. I didn't find anything like that, but I _did_ read that Knight-Captain Cade and Scribe Haylen both recommended bed rest and you completely ignored their advice. It's probably stress-related. Or radiation poisoning. How long were you in that water?”

“A couple of minutes... but I took Rad-X first... not radiation poisoning...”

“Do you need a Stimpak?”

“No... no Stimpaks,” he muttered. “I'm okay. They usually stop after... _nngh_... a few minutes...”

He lost his footing on the slope and slumped forward. Margot caught him before he could fall.

“Whoa! It's okay, I've got you. Come on, let's get you back to Oberland and find somewhere to sit down for a few minutes. When you're up to traveling again and we get to Starlight Drive-In, I'll take you to the clinic and get Doctor Allison to look at you.”

“Paladin Krieg always used to tell me I needed my head examined,” said Danse, groaning, as she helped him struggle back up the hill to the railroad tower and sat him down on the bench which had been placed against one wall.

“I don't think he meant that literally, Danse,” she told him. “But when we go home, you're going to rest, okay? No strenuous activity, no farm work, no worrying about Brotherhood stuff, nothing. You can put your feet up and watch television, and have Shaun and Codsworth feed you Fancy Lads Snack Cakes all day.”

“I hate those things. They're disgusting,” Danse mumbled.

Margot made a small, amused noise.

“Trust you to be the only synth in the Commonwealth who isn't addicted to Fancy Lads Snack Cakes, Danse. Or the only one still in total denial about his secret, shameful cake habit. Sometimes I swear you get a kick out of being stubborn and contrary for the hell of it.”

“Funny,” said Danse. He sat down and managed a little smile, in spite of the pain and the way the cold, wet fabric of his jumpsuit clung unpleasantly to his legs. “That sounds like someone else I know...”

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, lowering his head.

“There you go,” said Margot. “Just keep taking deep breaths. Do you want some more water?”

He tried to nod, but ended up clutching his head again.

“Ow.”

“Hold on. I'll be right back. Stay there, okay? Remember, deep breaths...”

Danse kept his eyes closed and leaned back against the white wooden siding of the tower. Ever since he'd come to the Commonwealth with Recon Squad Gladius, he'd been having splitting headaches. Sometimes they subsided for days or even weeks at a time, but then they'd come back again, as bad as before or even worse. His brain felt as though it was about to explode out through the back of his skull.

“I think I might be dying,” he said out loud.

“You aren't dying, Danse,” Margot told him, as she returned. “You sound like you're having migraines. I'm sure recent events haven't done much to help matters. Too much stress and not enough sleep. Don't you take any medication for your headaches? Painkillers? Sleep meds? Anything?”

“Don't need meds,” Danse snapped, opening his eyes to look at her again. “I'm a soldier. I can fight through any kind of pain there is.”

Margot placed a chipped coffee cup in his hands and cracked open a can of purified water. She filled the cup almost to the brim, and set the rest of the can aside.

“You need to take better care of yourself, Danse. You can't go on struggling through everything and acting like you're too proud to ask for help. Asking for something you need isn't a sign of weakness, okay? Let the people who care about you look after you.”

Danse put the cup to his lips.

“I don't expect you to look after me, Margot,” he said. “I'm a synth, not an invalid. If what you said is true, I shouldn't even be getting headaches. I should be stronger; faster; more resilient. Maybe I'm defective.”

He swallowed the rest of the water and put the cup down on the end of the bench. Margot picked it up and sat down beside him. The wood gave a loud creak beneath the weight of her armor.

“You aren't defective, Danse,” she said gently. “In fact, you might be the crowning glory of the Institute's synth program. I've never met anyone more human in my life. Only a man could possibly be as proud, obstinate, bull-headed, and unrelentingly hard on himself as you are.”

She unlatched her gauntlets and tipped a few drops of water from the bottom of the cup onto the palm of one hand, then ran her hand across Danse's forehead and hair. His eyes closed gratefully as her fingertips brushed his skin.

“There. Does that feel better?”

“That feels good,” he said, almost in a whisper. Some of the color seemed to be returning to his face. “Thank you.”

“You're probably dehydrated,” said Margot. She picked up the half-full can of purified water and took a sip. “If you ask me, I think you've been overdoing it lately. When we get home, I mean it, you need to rest. Don't make me handcuff you to a bed and _make_ you stay there.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” said Danse, with the ghost of a smile.

Margot choked, and sprayed water across the campfire. The flames hissed and sputtered beneath the shower of water droplets.

“Danse! You filthy bastard!” she exclaimed.

Danse blanched as he realized what he'd just implied.

“Apologies, Paladin. That wasn't what I meant to - ”

His apology fell flat in the face of Margot's impish grin.

“And there I was, starting to think that you weren't even capable of making crude remarks. I'll have to tell MacCready that you just jumped way ahead of him in the innuendo stakes. He'll be positively _livid_ with jealousy.”

She gulped down the rest of her water and refastened her gauntlets.

“All right, time to move out. You okay to travel?”

Danse nodded. The headache was starting to die down again; it had become a dull background throb, rather than a red-hot dagger lodged in the back of his head.

“Okay. Suit up,” Margot ordered. “We need to hit the road or we'll never get there in time. If I don't come back with that hot plate for Shaun like I promised, it's possible he may never forgive me...”

Danse got up and went back to his Power Armor suit, new fusion core in hand. He installed the power source and gave it a thump to make sure it was securely set in place, then stepped inside the armor and allowed it to seal him in.

“Ready?”

“Ready!”

“Good. Then let's get the hell out of here.”

Margot checked her Pip-Boy map, then switched the dial onto the Radio setting and tuned into Diamond City Radio's frequency.

“Congratulations, Paladin,” Danse commented, as “Atom Bomb Baby” began to play and they started to walk. “You're listening to Diamond City Radio and still appear to be fully clothed.”

Margot couldn't help laughing.

“You know I was only kidding about that, right?” she said, then added, mischievously: “I hope you aren't _too_ disappointed.”

“Negative,” said Danse. “But if you made that one up, then you have to tell me one more thing I don't know about you. Those are the rules, soldier.”

Margot laughed again.

“Well, this may come as a surprise to you, but I know a ton of _really_ bad jokes. Did you ever hear about the one with the nun who wanted to become a professional athlete?”

“No. What happened?”

“Oh, you'll get a real kick out of this one. So she went to the Olympic committee and said...”

They marched side by side along the overgrown railroad, following the tracks back across the bridge, as the shadows they cast behind them slowly began to lengthen.


	4. The Stars My Solace

The sky was on fire by the time Margot and Danse finally reached the settlement. Dark orange and pink streaked the horizon. As they approached the old drive-in, they saw some neon letters spark into life, burning electric-blue down one side of the projection booth tower; they spelled out the words “Starlight Drive-In”.

“That wasn't there the last time we were here,” said Danse, looking up. “Was it?”

“No, that's new,” said Margot, with a nod toward the neon. “I thought it would brighten the place up. Nick's been teaching me how to make neon signs. Did you know he made the one for his detective agency himself?”

“I didn't,” said Danse. He seemed to be in danger of being impressed. “Clearly a synth of many talents.”

“You know, sometimes I wonder if I might be a synth,” Margot speculated aloud, as they passed through the security checkpoint at the front gates. “I was supposed to be in cryostasis all that time, but when the Institute came to Vault 111... you don't think they replaced me with a synth replica before they let me out of that pod, do you? I mean, how would I _know?_ My own son talked to me like I was some kind of work in progress. It makes me wonder what he might have known that I don't. Was I one of their sick experiments too?”

Danse looked faintly distressed by the notion.

“You shouldn't say things like that,” he said. “You're _human_ , Margot. If you weren't, I'm sure we would have found out from the Institute records by now. Proctor Quinlan's been dissecting that data day and night for months.”

“I guess you're right. Speaking of data, that reminds me,” said Margot, patting a storage compartment in the armor at her hip. “Next time I see Curie, I want to give her these records.”

“What records?”

Margot snickered.

“The ones I swiped from the Institute before we blew it up! I have their entire archives backed up on holotape. Every one and zero they ever committed to a terminal is on there - records, research, experiment data, even technical information from their systems. Curie's going to have a field day when she sees that stuff.”

“You should give those holotapes to Proctor Ingram, soldier,” Danse said, frowning. “That sort of data in the wrong hands could be more destructive than an atom bomb.”

“Oh _hell_ no,” Margot retorted. “Not happening! I already gave the Brotherhood of Steel more than enough Institute data to keep them busy. If they want the rest, they're going to have to reinstate you into the Brotherhood. Until then, they can bite my ass. Curie will benefit far more from that kind of knowledge base than the Brotherhood will.”

“But what if - ”

“Trust me, Danse, there is no safer pair of hands in the Commonwealth than hers,” Margot cut him off, before he could object. “Curie truly believes in _primum non nocere_ and all the ethical codes of conduct which were supposed to prevent scientists from blowing up the world in the first place. She even took the Hippocratic Oath without anyone asking her to. If anyone's capable of making sure the data is used responsibly, for the benefit of mankind, it's her. Access to the Institute's full archive will allow her to help people.”

“Help people? How?”

“Well, the medical data alone will be a real boon to her studies. She's already developed improved Stimpaks and now she's working on how to enhance the effects of RadAway. She's really doing her best to make a difference out there.”

“It's a pity she's a synth,” said Danse, raising his eyebrows. “She'd make a good Scribe.”

“Too bad for the Brotherhood. It's definitely their loss,” said Margot. She stopped, and corrected herself. “ _Our_ loss, I should say. Although after what Elder Maxson did to you, I'm having a hard time thinking of the Brotherhood as family any more.”

Danse looked as though she'd slapped him in the face.

“He did what he thought was right, Margot. Tactically, it was the correct decision. For all he knew, I could have gone rogue at any time. I was a potential threat to my brothers and sisters, and everything we stood for. Even I would have executed me. And I'm _me_.”

“Well, I didn't. Aren't you glad someone in the Brotherhood has a heart as well as a brain?”

“I am. You stood up to Elder Maxson for me. I'll never forget that, for as long as I live. I just hope he doesn't hate you for it.”

“I don't care if he hates me for it,” said Margot stubbornly. “We made a pact, remember? You watch my back, and I'll watch yours. _Semper fidelis._ ”

Danse returned the Brotherhood salute she gave him.

“ _Semper fidelis,_ ” he said. “Was that what your husband and his brothers used to say? In the Army?”

“No, it was the motto of the U.S. Marine Corps,” said Margot. “The Army's motto was _This We'll Defend._ But I like to think the Brotherhood would appreciate the sentiment. _Always faithful_.”

“That's us,” said Danse. “Our word is our bond, and our bond is Steel.”

“Yeah. Come on. Let's see if the market's still open.”

Starlight Drive-In was a strange place for a settlement, thought Danse, as he followed Margot along the cracked ribbon of road. It shouldn't have worked, and yet it was thriving. There were over twenty people living and working here, all banding together in an attempt to make their little part of the world habitable again. The old drive-in movie theater's parking lot had once been littered with debris and leaking radioactive barrels, but the settlers had removed the trash and set up a water purifier in the puddle which had sprung up from a broken water main underneath the asphalt, thereby securing a supply of clean water. Rows of burned-out cars had been dismantled and replaced with a dozen little shacks to house Starlight Drive-In's settlers, although there were still a few rusting automobiles parked in between some of the houses; they sat motionless alongside the old drive-in speakers, as silent as the screen which towered over the far side of the settlement like an ancient monolith. Crops were being grown on the strip of soil beneath the disused movie screen; Razorgrain, Tato plants, gourds, melons, and corn. A few Mutfruit trees had been planted along what was left of the perimeter fence.

The lower floor of the projection booth structure, which had also housed the concession stand, had been turned into a bar. Blown-out windows still stood empty, but there were lights on inside, and the sound of a radio playing in the kitchen area; a few settlers sat on the old barstools at the counter, drinking beer or digging into noodle cups and plates of grilled Radstag meat. A bored-looking woman in a sequined cocktail dress served as the bartender.

The market was on the far side of the concession stand – a caravan post for the traders who came from Bunker Hill, surrounded on three sides by the rickety wooden stands of local merchants. There was no caravan here today, but the trading stands were all staffed. Scrap-metal signs advertised their wares: Weapons, Armor, Clothing, Chems, General Trader. There was also a small clinic booth, to which Margot gestured.

“Go on. Get Doctor Allison to take a look at you. I'll be right over here at the general store if you need me.”

Although he disliked medical exams, Danse was only too happy to acquiesce; he had no desire to experience another headache like the one at Oberland Station. Nevertheless, he approached the clinic stand with a little trepidation.

“Excuse me, doctor?”

The woman standing behind the booth – a bedraggled blonde in an old Vault-Tec lab coat – gave him a smile.

“Hi, how are you?”

“Not great, doc. I've been having trouble with headaches. I think they're getting worse. I was hoping you could help.”

“Sure, come on back. Let's take a look at you. Exam room's over here.”

He followed her out from behind the booth and to the little shed which had been constructed behind the market. Doctor Allison closed the door behind them and switched on the light. There was a metal desk and chair in the room, together with a narrow bed, a file cabinet with mismatched drawers, a low armchair which was leaking stuffing, and a painting of a sad-eyed kitten on the wall. She took a seat at the desk, and motioned for Danse to sit down in the armchair, although he opted to remained standing.

“All right. Tell me what's been bothering you. Let's start with your medical history.”

Danse explained, as best he could, that he was a Gen-3 synth. Doctor Allison's eyebrows rose at the revelation, although there was very little surprise in her tone of voice when she finally spoke.

“Synth, huh? Well, don't tell the others, but that's okay by me. The Institute isn't going to bother people any more, and I don't have a problem with those Railroad folks. They're just trying to help those poor things pick up the pieces and start over. Can't say I've ever met a synth with headache trouble before, though. I always thought they were supposed to be immune to illnesses. So when did these headaches start?”

“Not long after I arrived in the Commonwealth with my recon squad,” said Danse. “No previous history of headaches prior to that point. One day I went outside on patrol. I thought I saw something, but – I don't know. I blacked out. No idea how long I was out, but when I came round again, I was back at our base. Scribe Haylen said she and the others found me unconscious outside. I still don't remember what happened, but ever since then, I've been getting headaches. Lately they've been getting worse. Today I almost collapsed.”

“So, headaches, blackouts and memory loss,” said the doctor. She scribbled something on a battered clipboard. “Any disturbances in vision? Issues with balance? Would you describe the pain as debilitating?”

“Some blurriness during the worst attacks,” Danse replied. “The pain can make me clumsy, but no noticeable loss of balance. I wouldn't describe it as _debilitating_ , exactly, but it's starting to interfere with everyday activities.”

“Any trouble sleeping? Insomnia?”

“Trouble falling asleep; trouble staying asleep. We frequently had to decamp and leave at a moment's notice during missions, even in the middle of the night. I suppose I got used to the rude awakenings and started to anticipate them. I think it's been years since I last slept through the night.”

“Ex-military?” guessed Doctor Allison.

“Yes, ma'am. Formerly affiliated with the Brotherhood of Steel.”

The doctor tapped her pencil absentmindedly against her teeth.

“That may be significant. I'll come back to that in a second. Do you experience any weakness or numbness during these headaches? Fever? Nausea or vomiting? Dizzy spells? Seizures?”

“Negative. Nothing like that.”

“Then I think we can probably rule out a brain tumor. Okay, that's good. So you said you were in the Brotherhood of Steel? I'm assuming active service. Hmm. Nightmares?”

Danse shuddered.

“Almost every night.”

“And you said you had trouble sleeping,” Doctor Allison continued. “Did any of their medics talk to you about post-traumatic stress disorder?”

“Yes,” said Danse reluctantly.

“Can't say I'm surprised. We see a lot of that out here. Symptoms include depression, anxiety, insomnia, panic attacks, hypervigilance, feelings of mistrust, chem or alcohol abuse, relationship problems, suicidal thoughts, flashbacks to traumatic incidents... any of those?”

“No chems. I drink occasionally when I'm with friends. Insomnia. No panic attacks or flashbacks. I feel like I'm always on alert, but you have to be vigilant in the Commonwealth. There's danger almost everywhere you go.”

Doctor Allison gave him a wry smile.

“Well, that part is understandable, at least. How about the other things I mentioned? Anxiety? Depression? Suicidal thoughts or behavior?”

Danse closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory of the bunker. That feeling of heavy, black, bitter despair, down in the shadows. The world had never seemed bleaker and more devoid of hope. If it hadn't been for that small, dainty hand in the darkness, reaching out to take his and lead him back into the light -

“Yes. I was depressed, and anxious. I considered suicide. If it hadn't been for Margot, I would have gone through with it. She saved my life. And if she thinks my life matters enough to be worth saving, then I'll carry on, if only for her sake. She's already lost too many people she cares about. I can't put her through that again.”

“And how are you doing now?”

He sighed.

“I'm trying to get through this. Some days are a lot harder than others. Sometimes I wake up in the night and start dwelling on things again, but I keep telling myself that if Margot can find new reasons to get out of bed every morning, even after she lost everything she held dear, then so can I. I understand that it can take a while to come to terms with loss and bereavement, but that things will eventually improve over time. Until then, we just need to stick together, and support each other as we work things through. If we can do that, then I'm sure things will turn out all right in the end.”

“Good for you,” said Doctor Allison, giving him the thumbs-up gesture. “That's a great attitude. I only wish my father had thought the way you did. He lost his job in Diamond City and didn't think about what his family would do without him. I was twelve when he jumped off the Upper Stands one night. It's been years, but I still keep thinking what I could have said or done to save him.”

“It wasn't your fault, doctor. Don't blame yourself.”

“I try not to. I doubt there was much I could have done. Still...”

The doctor sighed, and looked down at the notes she'd scribbled on her clipboard.

“Well, so far it's looking to me like a combination of post-traumatic stress disorder and chronic migraine, exacerbated by emotional trauma and lack of sleep. My recommendation is to avoid any stressful activities and try to rest as much as you can. Try to stay away from alcohol or chems; they'll make the insomnia worse and you run the risk of dependency. Maybe you could take up a new hobby. Something that'll help you relax. Or you could spend some time with your friend. Does being around her help? Has she been supportive?”

“Affirmative. She's been very supportive. But there's something else – I don't know. I'm not sure how to explain it. Whenever I'm around her, I feel... odd.”

Doctor Allison gave him a look.

“Odd? What do you mean?”

“I just don't feel right,” Danse complained. “My chest hurts. My palms sweat. I keep _blushing_ all the time. Whenever I see her, I want to run away and hide, but when she's not around, I can't stand that either. I can't sleep, I can't think straight – sometimes I can't even breathe. I think I'm going insane. What the hell's wrong with me, doc?”

The doctor stared at him for a moment or two, then broke into a high, tinkling laugh.

“What's so funny?” said Danse indignantly. “I don't see what cause there is for amusement here. Is there some kind of flaw in my programming? Or am I suffering from some kind of mental illness? Is it something you can treat? Please tell me it is. It's intolerable.”

Still laughing helplessly, Doctor Allison shook her head.

“No, no! There's nothing wrong with you! I mean, aside from the post-traumatic stress. That does require treatment. But the secondary symptoms you mentioned are indicative of a very common condition. It's not a cause for concern. Far from it. Almost everyone gets hit with it at some point in their life.”

“They do?”

“Of course they do, you big dummy! Haven't you ever been in love before?”

*

Margot browsed through the wares on display at the market. The wind was starting to pick up as the sun dipped toward the horizon, but she was warm and safe in her Power Armor; the breeze ruffled her hair, but did nothing more.

“You got any hot plates?” she asked the general store vendor.

“Sure,” said the shopkeeper cheerfully. He was an older man, whose crumpled fedora didn't quite hide his receding hairline, but he still looked the part of a successful businessman in a clean, pressed suit. How the hell he kept his shirt so crisply ironed in the apocalypse was beyond Margot, but she envied his housekeeping skills. Hers hadn't been that good even before the Great War.

He ducked below the level of the stand, and brought up a hot plate. It was slightly rusted, but in otherwise decent shape. Margot could have hugged him with gratitude.

“It's perfect. How much?”

“Ten caps. But I'll make it seven for you, General.”

“Much appreciated. How's business? You guys need anything?”

“Nothing springs to mind right now. Although that new guy over at the clothing store seems kinda sketchy. You might wanna keep an eye on him.”

“I'll bear that in mind. Thank you.”

Caps exchanged hands, in return for the old hot plate.

“Pleasure doing business. Take care out there.”

Margot left the trader's stand, her precious cargo tucked under her arm, and went over to the stall at the far end of the market. The clothing store was a fairly recent addition, but she'd visited it once before. She gave the man standing behind it a friendly nod.

“Hey. Got anything to trade today?”

The clothing vendor flashed her a grin.

“Hey there, hot stuff. Looking for something to wear? I got some great clothing here if you want to slip into something more comfortable.”

 _Maybe you should take your own advice, buddy,_ she wanted to reply. _That suit's got more holes in it than a Super Mutant camp after a friendly visit from the Brotherhood._

“Perhaps I am,” she said warily. “But I hope you remember what I said about dealing in Minuteman uniforms the last time we met. If I catch you selling those things again, there's going to be trouble. I've already run into three imposters pretending to be Preston Garvey so they can shake down wastelanders for caps. If I see another one, I'll feed him to the Yao Guai. And then I'll come back for you.”

“Sure, whatever. You wanna buy something or not?”

“All right. Show me what you've got.”

“Everything on the table,” he said, nodding to the neatly-folded garments piled up on the stand. “But I also have something special back here. A little piece of the old world. If you like making your own clothes, then I'm sure you'll get a kick out of this...”

He disappeared momentarily as he bent down to pick something up, and then reappeared, holding some roughly-bundled bolts of cloth in his arms.

“Fabric,” he announced. “Nice stuff, too. Clean. Well, mostly. But this is Pre-War stuff, right here. Enough to make yourself a nice suit, or a couple of cute dresses. What do you say?”

Margot gave a start of recognition as he passed one of the pieces of cloth to her. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or to let out a happy sigh at the familiar pattern. The fabric was a bright gold-ocher color, patterned with a few brown squares.

“This is curtain fabric,” she said. “They used to use it for drapes before the war.”

“Well, nobody's going to give you a hard time over that,” he said breezily. “Ain't nobody left from before the war, except maybe the odd Ghoul here and there. And those guys ain't exactly in a position to dole out fashion and beauty tips, sooo... yeah. You interested?”

“Sure,” said Margot, with enthusiasm. “It'll be nice to have drapes up over the windows again. Nate and I used to have this exact same pattern. Let me take a look at these real quick and we'll work out a good price.”

She unrolled each bolt of fabric to inspect it for stains or holes. To her amazement, they were completely intact, if rather dusty. The Geiger counter on her Pip-Boy gave a few soft ticks as she shook out one of the drapes and held it up, but the needle dropped immediately back down to zero, and didn't move again.

“Wow, these are in great shape,” she commented. “I'll take them. Twenty caps for the lot.”

“Aww, come on, they're worth at least fifty,” the vendor whined. “You trying to stiff me? This is the good stuff, lady! Where else are you going to find anything in that kind of condition?”

“All right then, thirty. I'd give you thirty-five, but this one is stained,” Margot said, holding up the lower end of the drape to show him a few small spots of dark red near the hem.

“Forty. Not a single cap less.”

 _Funny,_ she thought, looking down at the cloth again as they haggled over the price. _That stain. Reminds me of the time I knocked over that bottle of Tart Cherry Red nail polish in the bedroom when I was painting my nails. The stuff went everywhere. All down the back of the dresser, and the bottom of the drapes. No matter what Codsworth did, he couldn't get the stain out. It looks almost like the exact same shade. It's even right in the... same... spot..._

Realization dawned.

“Where did you get these?” she said accusingly, holding the fabric up again.

The man shrugged his shoulders.

“Some old house, a few years back. The whole town was empty. Like everybody upped and left one day and never came back. Good pickings in that place. My scavenger buddies and I got some quality stuff on that run. Jewelry, clothes, even a few – hey, why are you looking at me like that? Something the matter?”

Margot was breathing heavily.

“Those are _my_ fucking drapes,” she said. “ _From my fucking house!_ You vultures were picking through my family's things while we were locked up in that goddamn Vault? As if losing my husband and son wasn't bad enough, I had to come home and find my house trashed and stripped bare of everything? Because of you and your shitbag friends?”

“Hey, take it easy, lady,” protested the vendor. He was going chalk-white beneath the layers of dirt and grime. “Scavving ain't a crime! There was nobody in that whole town except some old robot that couldn't catch up with us. We saw a skeleton in one house and assumed everyone was dead. Dead people don't have much use for any of the stuff we picked up, so where's the harm? Ain't like anybody was using it, right?”

He cowered as Margot's shadow fell across the stand.

“Uh... right?”

*

Danse's mouth dropped open.

“ _What?”_

“You've never been in love before?”

“No!”

“Well, I don't know what to tell you. If you're looking for my professional diagnosis, then I'm sorry to say it's terminal,” said the doctor gravely. “You can either resign yourself to a lifetime of cold showers, or take her out on a date sometime. I'm afraid there's no other cure.”

“But this can't be right,” said Danse, shaking his head. “She's my friend. My sister in Steel. This... doesn't make any sense.”

“Love usually doesn't,” said Doctor Allison, shrugging. “Sorry. Can't help you there. I'm a doctor, not a relationship counselor. Romance isn't really my department. But I can give you something to help with the headaches, at least. Here. Doc Weathers dropped off some Pre-War painkillers the last time he was in town. No idea where he found them, and I'm not asking. These things are hard to come by, and they can be addictive, so go easy on them. Don't take them with alcohol or other chems either, or you could have a bad reaction. Or die. Either way, please don't.”

“Thanks. How much?”

“Twenty-five caps. Come back if you need more, I have a few extra bottles stashed away. I also have something else which may be able to help with the sleeplessness, but I warn you, it's not cheap. We're talking at least a hundred caps apiece.”

Danse flinched.

“I'm afraid that may be more than I can afford.”

“Well, if you don't have the caps, I'm willing to barter if you have any items you'd like to trade,” the doctor offered. “I accept chems, antibiotics, purified water, ammunition, and Pre-War surgical supplies. Clothes and food if you're really stuck.”

“I have some water, and a couple of Stimpaks,” said Danse hopefully. “Will that be sufficient?”

He handed them over. Doctor Allison grinned.

“Close enough. All right. Here you go. It's called Calmex. It acts as a mild tranquilizer. Like any chem, it can be habit-forming, so try to avoid using it unless you really have to. But if you're suffering from a severe bout of insomnia, it should help you relax enough to get some sleep. See how you get along with the first dose. I can prescribe more if needed.”

He took the syringe from her hand.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome. Anything else you need help with?”

“No, that should do it. Thanks, doc.”

“No problem. If the meds don't help, come back and I'll see if I can run some tests.”

“Acknowledged. Thanks again for your assistance.”

Danse saluted, and left the doctor's office. When he was outside, he closed the door behind him, leaned against the wall, and breathed out a long sigh. He looked up. The orange-colored sky was fading to a dull violet, and one or two stars were beginning to emerge. They twinkled brightly, as if to say that all was well.

 _I always liked watching the stars,_ he thought, gazing up at them. _One of the few constants in life. No matter what happens down here on earth, the stars will always be there._

The sound of a commotion from the market attracted his attention. A small crowd had gathered around to watch as yelling rose up from one of the trading stands. He frowned, and hurried over to investigate.

Margot was standing in front of the clothing trader's stand. She'd picked the merchant right up off the ground; she was holding him up by the greasy lapels of his black suit and shaking him like a rag doll.

“What did you do with it?” she was screaming, an inch from his face. “What did you do with Nate's gold watch? What happened to my grandmother's silver locket? My pearl necklace? My wedding dress? _And where the fuck is my law school diploma?_ ”

“I remember some white dress with a bunch of lace on it,” the man said desperately. “We sold it to Becky Fallon in Diamond City! The necklace too! We gave the locket and the watch to that robot who runs the supply store at night. But I don't know about any law school diploma, okay? I don't even know what a diploma is!”

“You ransacked my house and don't even know what you did with my diploma?” Margot shrieked. “I studied for four years for that thing! Four damn years of my _life_ and you stole the only thing I had to show for it! You son of a bitch!”

“Please, don't hurt me!” he begged. “I didn't know those things belonged to anyone! Look, you can take the drapes! Take whatever you want! Just put me down!”

He cringed as she raised her clenched, armored fist, ready to strike.

“De Havilland!” Danse bellowed. “What the hell do you think you're doing, soldier?”

“Taking back what's mine!” she snarled back at him. She was red in the face, and shaking with rage. “He went to my house while I was in the Vault! He took my things - _Nate's_ things! Sentimental items, family heirlooms... and he sold them for scrap, like they meant nothing! They weren't his to take! He had no _right_ , Danse!”

“Margot, put him down!” Danse ordered. “Is this really how you want people to think of the Minutemen, and the Brotherhood? By demonstrating conduct unbecoming of a senior officer? You don't win hearts and minds by breaking skulls, soldier!”

Margot looked at the struggling merchant with absolute hatred in her eyes and threw him wordlessly aside. He landed in an untidy heap, coughing and groaning. She gave him another contemptuous glance, picked up the bolts of fabric and the fallen hot plate from the ground, and stormed off in the direction of the old movie screen.

“That's Commonwealth justice for you,” one of the settlers commented from the crowd.

Danse could still feel the quivering of the earth as Margot stomped away in her Power Armor. He ran after her, and found her sitting on the narrow steps in the service area which led up to the top of the movie screen. She was crying noisily into one of the swathes of fabric, pressing it against the side of her face.

“Margot,” he said, when she finally looked up. “I'm sorry about what that scavver took from your house. But your response was – well, a little disproportionate. In the man's defense, he wasn't to know that those were your things. As far as he knew, everyone in Sanctuary Hills was dead and gone.”

“I might as well be dead and gone. Everyone else is,” she said. Her voice was flat and detached; mascara was running down her cheeks. It reminded Danse of the toxic black rain which had fallen after the bombs, in the stories of the aftermath. An all-consuming explosion, followed by the bitter fallout which poisoned everything it touched... but while there was nothing he could do about the bombs which had fallen two centuries before, he could try to assuage the grief which followed Margot's fury.

“Room for two on those steps?” he asked.

He tried to sit down beside her, but their respective suits of Power Armor clashed and squeaked together, and they found themselves both wedged tightly in the narrow space.

“Whoops. Guess not.”

Margot snorted, and started to laugh.

“Oh, Danse,” she said, wiping her eyes, and then her nose. “What would I ever do without you?”

He struggled back out from the space and sat on the concrete at the foot of the steps instead, crossing his legs beneath him.

“Don't be upset,” he said. He reached up for her hand and tried to squeeze it, as much as the armor permitted. “I know you're angry that he took those things from you, but that's all they really were. Just things. Gold and silver can be replaced.”

Margot began to sniffle again.

“They were worth more to me than just gold and silver, Danse. Those things belonged to my family. Nate and I were going to pass them down to Shaun, and to his children, and to _their_ children. After I lost my loved ones, I was hoping I'd still have something to hold onto and remember them by. But no, I couldn't even hold onto the gold watch that Nate's great-great-grandfather took with him to war. Some bunch of fucking scavvers had to take that from me too. _And_ my law school diploma.”

“You really cared about that diploma, didn't you?”

“Of course I did,” she said, a little irritably. “I was a wife, and a mother, and a lawyer. Those three things were the most important parts of me. But the Institute took my husband, and my child, and then some grubby wastelander took the only proof that I ever had a law degree. There's nothing left of my old life, or who I used to be.”

That was a familiar theme, Danse thought. Those were the kinds of thoughts which ran through his head almost every night, as he wondered what was left of the man who had been willing to die at the behest of the Brotherhood of Steel. Who was he without the uniform and rank? Was he still the same person he'd always been, or was Paladin Danse really dead after all? But to hear those same sentiments coming from Margot's mouth and realize that she was talking about _herself_ was shocking, after all she'd done to persuade him that he needn't feel broken and lost.

“That's not true, Margot,” he tried to reassure her. “Your old life will always be a part of you. Your husband may be gone, but that doesn't erase what you had together. You're still his wife, and you're still a mother - to the Shaun you found, as well as the one you lost. And I'm sure you took away more from your time in law school than a flimsy piece of paper.”

“I assume you're talking about my astonishing ability to put away my own body weight in alcohol,” said Margot flatly. “I'm starting to regret telling you about my tequila shot record.”

Danse rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

“No, that wasn't what I meant at all. I'm sorry, I'm not expressing myself very well... the point I'm trying to make is that the things which really matter aren't the things you hold in your hand. They're the things you hold in your heart, and your head. Your memories. Your feelings. Your beliefs. Nobody can take those away from you, not even the Institute. I know that probably sounds rich, coming from something like me, but - ”

“No,” she said, looking down at her feet. “It doesn't. And you're not a _thing_ , Danse. You're a person.”

“You know I'm not a real person.”

She looked up, eyes bright with tears.

“Yes, you are. If you're not real, then nothing is. It's all just some weird dream. Maybe I'll wake up in bed next to Nate at any moment and find out that none of this ever happened.”

“If only that were the case,” said Danse sadly. He squeezed her hand again. “If I could send you back in time, so you could be with your husband and son, I would. Even if - if it meant I'd never see you again.”

Her expression became troubled.

“Even if you could, it wouldn't make any difference. What happened before would just happen all over again. The war, the bombs, the Institute, all of it. And what if we never met the second time around?”

“Well, when you put it that way...”

A smile returned to Margot's face.

“I'm glad we met, Danse,” she told him. “That's one thing I'd never go back and change. Now, terrifying that scavver... that's another matter. I know the guy was a creep, but that doesn't really excuse my behavior. Do you think I should go find him and apologize?”

Danse responded with a light shrug.

“If you want. That's up to you. I don't care much for scavvers. But I don't care to see a fellow Paladin trying to beat a civilian's brains out over a pair of drapes either. Now if you were fighting over a set of Tesla Armor, that might be understandable. But a set of drapes? Really?”

“Hey, that color was all the rage back in 2077,” said Margot. “And they're _my_ drapes. So _nyah_.”

She stuck out her tongue, but couldn't keep a straight face for long; the familiar smile came back, and a little light returned to her eyes.

“Well, now that you've recovered your composure as well as your belongings, I don't see any need for us to sit back here in the dark,” said Danse. He glanced over his shoulder. The sky was growing darker, and the pale edge of the moon was just visible through a stand of trees. “I suggest we go somewhere else.”

“Home? Or do you have any better ideas?”

“Why don't we go up to the roof of that old projection booth and watch the stars come out?” Danse suggested. “I used to go out onto the flight deck of the _Prydwen_ at night and look at the stars whenever I felt too restless to sleep. Seeing the stars always made me feel better. Maybe they'll make you feel better too.”

“All right. But not for too long, okay? I want to get back home to Shaun before morning.”

He helped her up from the stairs and led her back outside. Their shadows danced in the light of the rising moon as they walked, hand in hand, through the makeshift streets between the houses.

“Speaking of trouble sleeping, what did the doctor have to say about your headaches?” she said at last, breaking the silence between them.

“Exactly the same as Knight-Captain Cade, and Scribe Haylen,” he answered. “Post-traumatic stress and chronic migraines. Your doctor friend gave me some meds for pain relief. And some Calmex to help me sleep.”

Margot looked startled.

“Calmex? You mean the stuff they used to use to tranquilize farm animals? You don't see that around much any more. It's hard to source, and expensive as hell. You wouldn't believe the trouble Curie and I had trying to get hold of some when Dogmeat broke his leg in a Mole Rat den and we had to fix him up. You be careful with that stuff, okay? I don't care what Hancock says, I'm pretty sure humans shouldn't be using animal tranquilizers.”

“I'm always careful. Don't worry. But I appreciate your concern all the same.”

They went around the corner of a small metal shack and saw the drive-in's main building ahead. Fluorescent lights and rockabilly music were emanating from the broken windows of the bar.

“Armor off, soldier,” Danse advised her. “I don't think that roof is going to support our weight.”

They stopped outside the concession stand and ejected themselves from their Power Armor. Danse took care to remove both fusion cores; one of the settlers sitting on a stool near the counter was looking covetously at the suits.

“Man, wish I had some Power Armor,” he said, giving Danse's X-01 suit another long, appraising look and ignoring the glare he got in response from its owner. “Those Raiders wouldn't even think about trying to pick on us if we could suit up like that!”

“Try the Atom Cats,” Margot recommended. “If you've got the caps, they've got the goods. But try to look cool when you head over there, or they won't do business with you. In the meantime, don't get any funny ideas about trying to walk away with my friend's armor. Or mine, for that matter.”

She followed Danse in through the door, which led to the kitchen in the back. They picked their way past a set of rusted shelves and a stove stacked with dirty pots and pans.

“Hey, what are you guys doing back here?” said the bartender, looking over her shoulder. She gave them a suspicious, slightly hostile look. “I hope you don't have any funny ideas about breaking into the floor safe.”

“General de Havilland founded this settlement, citizen,” Danse reminded her. “She's hardly going to rob it blind. You don't have to worry about your safe. We're heading up to the roof.”

“The roof? What the hell for? There's nothing up there.”

“Just doing a little stargazing, Mindy, don't worry,” Margot reassured her, before Danse could open his mouth to argue with the bartender. “After all, what's Starlight Drive-In without a little starlight?”

“I guess you've got good weather for it,” said the bartender. Her expression relaxed into indifference. She picked up a rag and wiped down the counter. “Just watch your step up there. I don't want either of you coming through the roof. This old building's beat up enough as it is.”

“Acknowledged,” said Danse. He was already heading up the stairs to the next floor. “Margot?”

“Coming!”

She hurried up the steps after him, but as she pushed open the door to the roof access, some noise and motion from the next flight of steps caught her eye. She looked up and saw a shadowy figure in a Minuteman uniform fiddling with something in the projection booth.

“Hey, who's up there?”

“Minuteman Rodriguez,” a female voice replied, from higher up. “That you, General?”

“Yes, it's me. What are you doing up there?”

“Trying to get the old projection equipment working, ma'am. I've been working on it during my off hours. There's some old film reels up here and I figured folks might enjoy watching the movies again, like they used to in the old days. Colonel Garvey says it'd be good for morale.”

“How's it going?”

“Almost got it, ma'am!” Rodriguez called down. “A few more tweaks and I think I can make this thing work! Let's just hope the film hasn't deteriorated too much. I put up a bounty for more film reels, just in case. Any scavvers who come by with an intact movie reel will get fifty caps for their trouble. I figured there are probably still some left in those old Vaults, or maybe the Theater District downtown, so we might get some new titles soon.”

“What have we got to choose from?” Margot asked her.

She heard rummaging sounds, somewhere above her head.

“Uh, let's see... so far we've got _Love Sets Sail!_ , _Those!_ , and _Grognak the Barbarian: The Movie_. If we get anything else in, you'll be the first to know.”

“Good work, Minuteman. Keep it up.”

“Yes, ma'am!”

Margot ducked out through the door to the roof access and closed it behind her. Danse was already sitting on the roof, in the most relaxed pose she'd ever seen him adopt. One arm was wrapped around his knees, the other leaning against the surface of the roof; he was looking up at the sky with wide, wondrous eyes.

“I didn't know you liked watching the stars,” said Margot, as she sat down beside him.

“I also like Gum Drops,” said Danse. He started to smile. “And I beat Proctor Quinlan at chess so many times that he refused to let me play him any more. There. Three more things you didn't know about me. Your turn.”

Margot laughed.

“Ha! All right. My favorite thing in the whole world is having breakfast in bed. I would happily kill a man for a bottle of champagne. And when I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut more than just about anything.”

“Why did you become a lawyer instead?”

“It seemed a little less out of reach than the moon. That and I didn't want to join the military.”

Danse smirked.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Paladin, but you did that when you enlisted in the Brotherhood of Steel. I hope the revelation doesn't come as too much of a shock. Although I thought the Power Armor, uniforms and energy weapons were obvious indicators of military involvement.”

Margot rolled her eyes.

“Duh. I meant I didn't want to join the _Pre-War_ military. I wanted to go to outer space, not Outer Mongolia, which was a far more likely prospect in those days. I wanted to fly rockets, explore other planets, and set up space colonies. So much for that dream. I doubt anyone will be going back to the moon for a long, long time.”

Danse looked up again. The moon was rising higher in the sky; a vast, glowing white orb in the darkness, surrounded by a sea of glittering stars.

“So people really did go to the moon?”

“They did. Maybe we will again, one day.”

He looked awed by the possibility.

“I wonder what it's like up there?”

“Cold. Airless. Barren. But utterly spectacular. I used to watch documentaries about it. The astronauts who landed on the surface said you could see the Earth from up there, and they brought back pictures. I remember how small our planet looked from space. Like a little marble covered in clouds.”

Danse sighed.

“It sounds incredible.”

“It was,” said Margot dreamily. “It really was. I wish you could have seen what life was like back then, Danse. You would have loved it.”

She followed his gaze back up to the night sky.

“It's beautiful out here tonight,” she remarked. “Like an ocean of stars. Look at all those constellations... I don't think I've ever seen so many at once.”

“Feel a little calmer for seeing them?”

“You know what, I do. I think this was just what I needed. Thank you.”

The moment of peace was interrupted as the door to the roof slammed back on its hinges.

“Hey!” shouted a voice behind them. “I got it! I finally got it! I think it's working!”

They both turned and saw Minuteman Rodriguez standing in the doorway, beaming from ear to ear with excitement.

“The projector?” said Margot. Her heart jumped. “Really?”

“Yes!” crowed Rodriguez. “We can finally watch movies here again! Hold on, let me run downstairs and I'll tell everyone!”

She ran downstairs, dark hair flying, and hurried out of the building to ring the bell outside the patio area.

“Hey, everybody! Come quick! I got the projector working!” Margot and Danse could hear the young woman yelling from ground level, as the bell clanged against its wooden post. “The first Starlight Drive-In settlement movie night is about to start! Tell everyone to come out and watch!”

They heard footsteps on the stairs again as the young Minuteman ran back upstairs, still exclaiming that she couldn't wait to see how the movie was going to turn out. More footsteps indicated that she'd reached the projection booth.

“Think it'll really work?” said Margot.

“It might,” said Danse, with a guarded sort of optimism in his tone. “We'll see.”

A beam of light shot out of the tower and bathed the darkened movie screen in a bright white glow. Below them, Danse and Margot heard gasps and cheers. Settlers were pouring out of their shacks, carrying chairs from their homes or clambering up ladders onto roofs to get a better view.

“Well I'll be damned,” said Margot, delighted. “She really did it! Man, now I wish we had some popcorn.”

“What's popcorn?” said Danse curiously.

“Corn kernels, heated until they pop,” she tried to explain. “They're fluffy and light, but they don't taste of much on their own, so you put butter on them, and salt. You can't eat just one handful. Nate and I used to come here and get a big bucket of the stuff to share between us. Sometimes we enjoyed the popcorn more than the damn movie. We'd get a bottle of Nuka-Cola each, and sometimes we'd get candy as well... I loved going to the movies.”

There was another cheer from the settlers down below as something else lit up the movie screen; the picture changed from a blank, bright white to a commercial urging patrons to head to the concession stand for a bottle of Nuka-Cola.

“Subliminal advertising,” Margot groaned. “Damn it. Now I want one. Think they've got any at the bar?”

“I'll get you one,” Danse volunteered. “Maybe they have some Gum Drops too.”

“I wouldn't say no to that. Hurry back, okay? I don't want you to miss this!”

*

“ _Malcolm, ever since our freighter went down, I feel like my heart's fallen to the bottom of the ocean, along with my family fortune...”_

“ _My darling Simone, you will never make my heart sink. Unless you tell me you won't marry me.”_

“ _But Malcolm, you know I'm still engaged to Cosmo!”_

“ _Forget Cosmo! Kiss me, damn it!”_

Margot made a rude noise as the characters embraced on-screen.

“Pfft. I'd forgotten how terrible this movie was. Vera Keyes was a knockout beauty. Why she let her agent cast her in this garbage is one of the great mysteries of the old world. How it ever became a hit is an even bigger mystery.”

“I like it,” said Danse, looking a little hurt. “Please don't ruin my first movie. I've never seen one before.”

“Sorry. Hey, want to see something cool? Watch this!”

Margot opened up the roll of Gum Drops and tossed one of the sweets up into the air, catching it neatly in her open mouth.

“Nate and I used to do this all the time,” she said, her words muffled as she chewed on the lemon-flavored sweet. “Here, you try.”

She passed the sweets to Danse, who eagerly tried to copy her. He missed, and the sweet went tumbling down onto the asphalt below.

“Damn. Missed. I'll go again.”

“Hey, don't waste those! It's not like they're in mass production any more.”

“I know, I know. One more try.”

He flicked another sweet up into the air; this time he caught it.

“Got it!”

“Nice. Which flavor did you get?”

“I'm not sure,” said Danse, chewing thoughtfully.

“Well, what color is it?”

“Purple.”

He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue to demonstrate.

“Ugh, grape,” said Margot, recoiling in disgust. “Those ones are the worst. I used to feed them to Nate. Or trade them for the red ones. He didn't like cherry flavor. But we always fought over the lime ones. The lime ones were the best.”

“I'll eat the grape ones for you,” Danse offered. “I like them. Did grapes really taste like that?”

“Kind of... sort of. Not really. No.”

They sat side by side on the roof, legs dangling over the edge, and watched the unlikely plot of _Love Sets Sail!_ unfold before them.

“ _But Cosmo!”_ the heroine was wailing, chasing after one of the identical-looking mustachioed love interests and hurling herself at him. _“Don't you understand? I love you both! How can I possibly choose between you and your twin brother?”_

“ _Simone, you and I both know that Malcolm is a cad,”_ declared the man solemnly. _“He will never love you as I do!”_

Margot cackled with laughter.

“Oh God, this is just dreadful. It's so bad, it's good.”

She unrolled the Gum Drops wrapper a little further, then groaned.

“Don't tell me the rest of them are _all_ grape. Cruel twist of fate indeed. Hey, Danse! Open your mouth.”

“Ahhh,” said Danse obediently.

She giggled at the look on his face, and fed him a Gum Drop.

“You do know I'm capable of eating them myself?” he said, chewing loudly.

“I know, but it's more fun this way, isn't it?”

“I guess. Mmm. You know, I think the grape ones are my favorite.”

“Communist,” Margot teased.

“I thought it was _you_ who liked the red ones,” Danse countered.

“Agh! Shots fired!” Margot cried dramatically, pressing her hand to her heart.

Danse looked around in panic and scrambled to his feet, knocking his bottle of Nuka-Cola over the edge of the roof.

“What? Where?”

“Nowhere! Nothing's wrong, Danse. It's just a figure of speech. Everything's fine.”

He breathed out, then looked down morosely at the broken bottle on the floor below them.

“Damn. I was enjoying that Nuka-Cola.”

“Here, you can have the rest of mine,” Margot said, passing him her bottle. “Sorry. I shouldn't kid around about stuff like that.”

“No, you shouldn't,” he rebuked her. He took the bottle and knocked back a gulp of soda. “But perhaps I should thank you. I was getting so caught up in the movie that I almost forgot about the need to keep watch.”

“The guards are keeping watch,” lied Margot. It wasn't true; the entire settlement had turned out to watch _Love Sets Sail!_ make its return to the big screen. They sat on patio chairs, dining chairs and the metal roofs of their houses, swept away by poorly-written Pre-War melodrama. Even the guards had abandoned their posts in favor of gawping at the silver screen. Fortunately, the automated turrets stationed beside each guard post were still operational and scanning the horizon for hostiles, whirring loudly as they rotated back and forth.

Danse settled down again beside her.

“All right. As long as you're sure we're safe.”

“As if I'd ever let anything happen to you, Danse. You want another one of these?”

“Ahhh.”

Margot tried not to laugh as she took another Gum Drop out of the packet and lifted it up to his open mouth. When she'd first met stern, stalwart Paladin Danse, she'd never envisioned that one day she and the Brotherhood of Steel's poster boy would be goofing off at an old movie theater, instead of going off in search of technology to salvage and mutants to destroy. Danse hadn't always been such easy company; she'd been a little scared of the dour, intimidating figure in Power Armor when they'd first crossed paths. But over time and the course of their shared ordeals, fear had given way to awe, and awe had grown into respect. Respect had eventually cemented itself into the relationship and become trust; that trust had formed the foundation of a close friendship, and now they cracked jokes and behaved as though being side by side was the most normal thing in the world.

_I still never imagined I'd be feeding the guy Gum Drops. Or that I'd ever feel this at ease around anyone except Nate._

Her fingers brushed lightly against his lips as she took her hand away. She resented the way her heart caught in her throat, just a little, at the contact. And when he looked at her, she suddenly felt like an idiot for ever thinking that Danse was stiff, formal and cold, and that no human emotion could reach him.

She remembered all the little unguarded moments, all at once. The deep laughs which had joined in with high-pitched giggles as he gave the Brotherhood Squires piggyback rides; the smile which brought so much life and warmth to his face during rare moments of levity. Glances during missions which had exchanged so much more than words.

She'd flirted a little with him, once or twice. Each time, her playful comments had shot straight through his Power Armor and all his other defenses; when she'd asked him if he might hug her if she needed comforting during a mission, like Scribe Haylen once had, he'd stammered and blushed like a teenage boy asking his crush to the prom.

_When he's not all business, he's adorable. Just a big goofball who likes Gum Drops and Astoundingly Awesome Tales, and doesn't really know how to talk to girls. And I hate to say it, but Piper's right. He's kind of hunky. Especially when I can talk him out of his Power Armor._

Margot ignored the little voice which whispered that perhaps she could talk him out of his jumpsuit too, and popped a Gum Drop into her mouth instead, sucking the sweet defiantly and trying not to pull a face at the sickly artificial grape flavor.

“I thought you didn't like the grape ones,” said Danse.

“I don't,” she muttered, her voice thick with the effort of talking intelligibly through a mouthful of candy. “But all the good ones were gone.”

She attempted to return her attention to the movie.

“ _So it was all a ruse, Malcolm? You never loved me after all?”_ the on-screen heroine was sobbing. _“But what about all those things you said? Or was all this to try and get your hands on the Dawne family diamond? Did Lord Styles put you up to this? He did, didn't he? How could you betray me like that? You're a – a beast!”_

“ _I'm no beast, darling. But I'm wild about you. My love for you may be the only real part of me.”_

Danse felt something stir in his chest. Margot thought the words were trite – she must have seen hundreds of movies before the end of the world, so she was probably right – but there was something about that little piece of dialogue which had resonated with him.

_I'm a synth. I look human, although I know I'm not. But even if my feelings are the only real part of me, that's enough. It means there's some sort of soul in the machine. I know Margot seems to think I'm more than the sum of my parts. I wonder if Valentine was right about her..._

On the big screen, the heroine gasped.

“ _What are you saying?”_

“ _I'm saying why don't we just take the diamond and run? To hell with Lord Styles! He was the one who sank our freighter anyway! We owe him nothing, darling! And as for my treacherous brother - ”_

He stole a glance at Margot. She was chewing furiously on her Gum Drop, and watching the movie as though she hated it.

_She's more beautiful than that Pre-War actress on the screen. It should have been Margot up there, pretending to be a glamorous heiress in love with aristocratic twin brothers. The whole world would have followed her every move, and worshiped the ground she walked on. She could have lived a life of champagne and diamonds and endless romance. Instead she married an ordinary soldier and decided to become a lawyer, and a mother. And after that life ended, she traded pretty Pre-War dresses for fatigues, armor and an officer's overcoat. She doesn't care if she's wading through giant ants, saving kidnap victims, shooting Raiders in the face at five hundred yards, or helping idiot settlers plant Mutfruit trees the right way up. She just rolls up her sleeves and gets things done. I bet she wouldn't be afraid to tell someone she cared about them._

He swallowed nervously, and looked away from her, returning his focus to the movie.

It was Margot's turn to sneak a look across at Danse, on her left. He was watching the fistfight which had broken out between the two male leads on-screen, but he seemed preoccupied; his brown eyes were clouded with some strange, unknowable emotion, as if he were battling with a troublesome thought. She wondered what was bothering him, and what she could do to make it better.

_I hate it when he gets so quiet and serious. It makes me want to hug the misery right out of him, but I know I can't. Now that he and I have traded places, and I'm the commanding officer, it wouldn't be fair to put him in that position - assuming he even wanted me to, and that's a big assumption on my part. Danse is a mystery; I wish I knew what was in his heart, and his head. Maybe it would make things easier. Or maybe we'd just end up fighting feelings as well as monsters. That kind of distraction on the battlefield gets people killed... oh God, what if it did and I lost him too?_

The thought of being parted from Danse forever by some unforeseen injury was like a punch straight to the heart. Margot looked at him, suddenly frightened. What if she never saw him again? She'd have to spend a lifetime without the way he grinned at the sight of a fresh set of Power Armor, the earnest observations about life in the Commonwealth, and the sound of his laughter whenever she told him another appallingly bad joke. No more Gum Drops, or hastily-gathered bouquets to cheer her up; no more nights spent watching the stars, or exchanging stories about their past over the roar of a campfire. No more detailed explanations about how Saturday morning cartoons and telephones worked.

_No more Danse._

She grabbed his arm instinctively and clung to it, burying her face into his shoulder, in the hope that hanging onto him might turn back the tide of helpless dread before it could sweep her away. He stank of sweat, soil and Power Armor grease, but to her, it was the most reassuring smell in the world. It meant that he was _there_ , alive and well, and probably wondering why the hell she was hanging onto him so tightly.

Danse looked down at Margot with a little trace of alarm. She was clutching his arm and her eyes were closed; she seemed more interested in holding onto him than watching the movie. It brought him unexpectedly back to the time he and Knight Cutler had passed the bombed-out shell of a movie theater while out on patrol in the D.C. ruins. His best friend had remarked that movie theaters had been an important part of the love lives of countless Pre-War teenagers. They'd both scoffed at the idea that guys their age had once agonized over the elaborate ritual of putting one arm around the girl they liked while they watched some implausible tale about monsters or unlikely romances in a darkened room. It had sounded so easy, almost ridiculously so. Now, however, he was beginning to understand why his predecessors had been so riddled with anxiety.

_Do I cough and get her attention first? No, that might spoil the moment. But if I don't, I might startle her and end up with a black eye. Margot's got one hell of a right hook. I saw her punch a Feral Ghoul to death once. And what if she doesn't want me to put my arm around her? I don't want her to be angry with me for trying. On the other hand, Sentinel Lyons always used to tell us that fortune favors the bold. Maybe I should just -_

“ _Do it!”_ shrieked the heroine on the big screen, as one of the leading men held her tightly and looked down at the plank which stretched from the sinking ship to a waiting boat; sharks appeared to be circling beneath them. His love rival had just tumbled into the ocean to certain doom. _“Come on, darling, you can do it! It's now or never!”_

With a very careful, deliberate nonchalance, Danse stretched out his arm and wrapped it around Margot's waist. Her head moved from his shoulder and she looked up at him with huge eyes, her lips parting in a tiny, astonished gasp. For a second or two, the fate of the whole world seemed to hang in the balance, and suddenly he was scared by his own presumption. What had he done?

But there were no objections, screams of outrage, or stinging slaps across his face. Instead, Margot smiled warmly and reached up to the side of his head. Soft red lips touched against his cheek, like a whisper of light summer breeze, and then she was leaning into him and snuggling into his shoulder again, the same way she had a few nights ago, when the world had been tinged with scotch and heightened emotions.

“You're sweet sometimes, Danse,” he heard her murmur in his ear.

Danse had been about to say something, but now he found himself struck dumb. She'd _kissed_ him. On the face. Now what? Was he supposed to say something? Kiss her back? Sweep her up in his arms and embrace her like a movie-screen hero, or throw her over his shoulder like Grognak the Barbarian and carry her off into the sunset? These human emotions he found himself dealing with were as absolutely perplexing as they were overwhelming.

“ _My dearest Simone, I'm so sorry for the hell I've put you through,_ ” said the man on the screen. He and the woman were standing on a small fishing boat, with a glorious monochrome sunrise as a backdrop to their clasped hands and heartfelt conversation. _“And I'm sorry about all those ridiculous schemes, and my brother's untimely demise – but it's over now. Now we can venture out into that brave new dawn and live happily ever after.”_

“ _Malcolm, I always knew that our destiny was written in the stars,_ ” the heiress sighed contentedly. “ _How could anything ever truly tear us apart now that we're together? The sharks have already taken poor Cosmo, and that unforeseen heart attack took that villain Lord Styles. Well, I've made up my mind. I'm going to accept your proposal. We must get married at once! Why wait, darling? Why wait for anything at all?”_

“ _Then let's do it - after all, today is a new day! Let's embark on this great new adventure together, hand in hand! Let our love set sail!”_

Conflicted though she was, with thoughts of decorum, Danse and her dead husband all vying for control of her sensibilities, Margot found herself smiling. She hadn't planned to kiss Danse on the cheek, and she wasn't entirely sure why she'd done it, other than the fact that it had seemed like a good idea at the time. She'd worried for a second that it had been too much, but he didn't seem unduly perturbed by the show of affection. His arm was still tucked around her waist. He seemed unsure of what to do next, but that was all right. She wasn't sure either.

_Perhaps we'll find out someday. For now, we've got the stars, one more grape Gum Drop, and the last five minutes of this lousy movie to keep us company. Who could possibly ask for more?_

Cardboard and waxed paper rustled in the dark as she took the last sweet from the packet.

“Ahhh.”

“I think you're getting a little too used to this, Danse. I suspect I may have set some kind of precedent here... oh, all right. Last one.”

The sweet made a _plock_ sound as she dropped it into his mouth _._ They exchanged fond, faintly embarrassed grins, then they returned to their previous stance, heads resting gently against each other as they watched the closing scene of the movie.

“ _I love you,_ ” the hero proclaimed, sweeping up the woman into his arms and embracing her.

“ _I love you too,"_ the heroine sighed back, gazing adoringly up into the man's eyes.

As the on-screen couple kissed, Margot and Danse both let out a sigh. Their hands folded into each other without a sound as the film's credits began to roll. The shadows of the words they'd left unspoken hung between them in the still night air, suspended like dust motes in a ray of moonlight.

_And I love you._

*

Midnight found them walking through the deserted streets of Concord beneath the light of an almost-full moon. Faded red, white and blue bunting had been strung between the buildings many years before; one string of flags had been torn loose by the last radiation storm, and flapped madly in the wind.

“Did I ever tell you I found my first set of Power Armor here?” said Margot, as they passed the Museum of History.

The hint of the anecdote to follow piqued Danse's interest.

“No, I don't think so. Where did you find it?”

“It happened right over there at the museum,” she told him, pointing. “Preston and the others were trapped in the building, trying to fend off a gang of Raiders. I only came into town to look for other survivors after I left the Vault, but before I knew what the hell was going on, I was launching a rescue mission and fighting off a bunch of psychopaths with leather armor and pipe pistols. I didn't even have any spare ammunition or supplies. Just my Vault suit and a pistol. That was it.”

Danse looked aghast.

“Those were appalling odds, soldier. You could have been killed!”

“Yeah, I was in _way_ over my head. I thought I was screwed for sure. Luckily I managed to sneak up on one of them and put a bullet through the back of his skull before he heard me coming. I remember rummaging through his pockets for supplies and praying I was going to get out of there alive. But then I made it onto the roof. See that crashed Vertibird up there?”

Margot flicked her eyes upward to the wreckage lodged in the building's roof. Danse followed her line of sight up to the dark shape on the skyline.

“Affirmative. I have a visual.”

“There it was,” she said gleefully. “ _Cha-ching!_ Jackpot. A beat-up set of T-45, just standing there empty. All it needed was a fresh fusion core to get it going, and then I was in business. Tore a Minigun off the side of the Vertibird and let rip. The Raiders outside didn't even know what hit them. Now the Deathclaw that was down there too...”

Danse paled.

“A Deathclaw? You fought off a band of Raiders and a _Deathclaw_ , fresh out of a Vault?”

“Yeah, that was a little hair-raising,” Margot admitted. “It wasn't exactly my intention to mix it up with a Deathclaw on my first day out of the icebox, but I took a bad step and fell off the roof. Rookie mistake. When it caught up with me and pinned me down, I thought I was canned food for sure. But I kept firing anyway. I was scared to death, but there was this... I don't know, this _instinct_ which kept me going. Some little voice telling me that I couldn't go down without a fight. That stubborn little part of me was the only reason I made it out of that mess.”

“Survival instinct's a hell of a thing,” Danse agreed. “I remember seeing that data on board the _Prydwen_. The moment I realized what we were looking at, I knew I was in danger. Self-preservation kicked straight in. Before anyone else caught on, I ditched my armor, hightailed it out of there with a Stealth Boy, and took _Excalibur_ down to Boston Airport so I could escape.”

Margot goggled.

“ _Excalibur?_ Are you kidding me? You used _Excalibur_ as a getaway vehicle? My God, that's – that's incredible. I can't believe you actually stole Maxson's personal Vertibird!”

“I didn't steal it!” Danse objected, as she howled with laughter. “I _appropriated_ it. There's a difference.”

“Yeah, if you squint! No wonder Maxson was so pissed with you! Hijacking the boss-man's Vertibird when he's just put a death sentence on your head? You've got a hell of a pair on you, Danse!”

Danse seemed unsure of what to say in response.

“I, uh... thank you?” he managed, at last. “I take it that was a compliment. Was it?”

“Hell yes! If you weren't already my hero, Danse, I think you are now. Just tell me you didn't eject and crash-land it in the ocean as a final “up yours” to the Brotherhood of Steel. Because I won't believe you. Nobody gives that few fucks, not even me.”

“Of course not! I landed _Excalibur_ safely at the airport and left the keys with Lancer-Captain Sewell so she could take it back. I knew nobody would try to shoot down Elder Maxson's Vertibird, even if they suspected something was amiss. _Excalibur_ will have come back to him in perfect condition. Not a scratch on her.”

Margot feigned disappointment.

“Aww. So much for the rebel without a cause. You even _steal_ things responsibly.”

“Is that even possible?”

“You tell me,” she said, nudging him, as they walked to the edge of Concord and headed north. “So... how was it? Leather seats, cupholders, holotape player? Or just the same as all the others?”

“The same as all the others. Maxson lives like the men he commands. You have to give him credit for that.”

“The boring bastard,” moaned Margot. “I was expecting a custom Vertibird as well as that custom Power Armor of his. Now if they ever gave _me_ my own Vertibird, I'd - ”

She stopped outside an empty house. She could hear a faint whirring sound. It was hard to tell at first where it was coming from, especially in the dark, but then she spotted a flicker of motion near the side of the road. Two Bloodbugs were feeding on the corpse of a Brahmin.

“Movement right!” Danse yelled. “Two o'clock!”

“Acknowledged! Firing!”

She fired off two shots in quick succession. Both Bloodbugs disintegrated in a shower of ash. Danse made an approving noise.

“Nice shooting, soldier.”

“Hey, what can I say? I learned from the best,” she told him, grinning. She patted the side of her laser rifle. “You know, I've been trying to think of a nickname for this baby for a while now. I think I'll call her _Bugzapper_.”

“You name your weapons?”

“Of course I do, Mr. Righteous Authority. Got a nickname for all my guns,” Margot bragged. “My Gauss rifle is _Madame Pompadour._ My combat shotgun I named _Diplomatic Immunity._ Then there's my sniper rifle. I called that one _Witness Protection_. Little lawyer joke there.”

“You have a favorite?”

Margot unholstered her modified 10mm pistol and produced it for his inspection.

“This one. I found it in Vault 111. I used it to kill Kellogg, so I named it _Nate's Revenge._ Because fuck you, Kellogg. You don't shoot my husband dead in front of me and expect to get away with it. I avenged Nate so hard that Nick had to pull me away before I kicked the bastard's head clean off his shoulders.”

“Desecrating the body of a fallen enemy is bad form, soldier,” Danse reminded her, as he handed back the weapon. “We don't encourage that sort of behavior in the Brotherhood. It's sadistic.”

“I know. Normally I'd agree. But when I saw Kellogg, I just lost it. The man may have had his family taken away from him, but of all people, he should have known better than to inflict that pain on someone else. I'm glad I finally got to put a bullet in him. Nick and Piper gave me the evil eye when I said I'd do it again and that I wasn't sorry, but... I'm not. I still don't regret what I did, not even for a second. He was a monster.”

“It's our job to kill monsters, Margot,” said Danse. “You did the right thing. That cyborg abomination won't ever hurt anyone again.”

“No, he won't. But you know what's funny? The moment Nick and I walked out of that place and up onto the roof, we saw the _Prydwen_ flying in. It was the middle of the night and she was all lit up like this - incredible thing from a dream. I think if ever there was a sign from above, it was seeing the Brotherhood of Steel's flagship roll into town right when I was at my lowest ebb.”

“I'm sure the sight was very uplifting,” Danse agreed. “The _Prydwen_ is a beautiful ship. A symbol of hope for the whole Commonwealth. I'd be more surprised if you told me you _weren't_ inspired by the sight of her.”

“Hey, after you moved Nick Valentine to poetry, I just had to look you guys up,” said Margot, with a little more cheer in her voice. “And that was how I found myself at Cambridge Police Station meeting the man, the myth, the legend... the one and only _Paladin Danse!_ ”

“You're making me sound like a contestant in the Combat Zone,” Danse complained.

Margot smirked.

“We _are_ the Combat Zone, Danse. The ultimate tag-team. Even Cait wouldn't stand a chance against us.”

“Two highly-trained Brotherhood soldiers in Power Armor against a recovering junkie in a corset is hardly a fair fight,” Danse pointed out.

“Oh, I don't know about that. Cait's a pretty fearsome opponent when she's riled.”

 _So are you,_ Danse wanted to say. _Like an irresistible force. I guess that makes me the immovable object. We ended up on a collision course when Elder Maxson sent you after me. But I think the irresistible force is winning. I remember a time in my life when I wouldn't have touched an irradiated bottle of soda. Robots were inanimate objects and Ghouls were targets. I didn't have room for anything in my life but the Brotherhood of Steel. All those things are changing, because of you. I guess I'm not as immovable as I thought I was..._

They started walking again. The Red Rocket fuel station rose into view as they climbed the hill, industrial lights shining brightly under the canopy and illuminating the forecourt. Ada was patrolling the edge of the settlement; she gave them a friendly wave.

“Greetings, ma'am,” she called out to Margot. “Mr. Garvey informed me of your trip to Oberland Station. How was your journey?”

“Got what I needed,” said Margot. “Thanks for asking. Everything okay here, Ada?”

“Yes, ma'am. The settlers are content. Jezebel... is Jezebel.”

“Red Rocket's very own robotic Marcy Long. Gotcha.”

“I couldn't have put it better myself, ma'am,” said Ada. There was a hint of amusement in the Assaultron's synthesized female voice. “I see Paladin Danse is accompanying you. Will you be staying in Sanctuary Hills for long, sir?”

Danse looked a little nonplussed.

“Uh... yes. Hoping to. It largely depends on the accommodation. The house I'm staying in will need some work to make it habitable again.”

“Ms. Margot and I will be glad to assist you in your efforts, sir. You have but to ask.”

“That's, uh, very kind. Thank you. _Ad victoriam,_ robot.”

“ _Ad victoriam_ to you too, sir. I should resume my patrol. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Ada,” said Margot.

They turned back toward the road.

“Her name's Ada,” Margot admonished him, as Ada marched away in the other direction. “Not _robot._ ”

Danse had the grace to look embarrassed.

“I'm sorry. I'm not used to talking to Assaultrons. Obliterating them from a safe distance? Yes. Running like hell when they activate their own self-destruct sequence? Absolutely. But conversing with them is another matter entirely.”

“I thought you were going to faint when KL-E-0 flirted you that time we went to Goodneighbor to pick up more ammunition,” said Margot, laughing out loud. “Remember her? _I'm a woman, baby. Can't you tell?_ ”

Danse flinched.

“I'm still trying to forget that ever happened, soldier. Please don't remind me.”

“ _Come back when you're ready to go all the way,_ ” purred Margot, in the closest approximation of the Assaultron's voice that she could manage.

Danse felt a peculiar sensation run down his spine. Hearing the words come out of an Assaultron had made him want to retreat to a bigger set of Power Armor, and possibly the fetal position. When they came out of Margot's mouth, however... that was another story. It made him uncomfortably aware of the way sweat made his jumpsuit cling to his back, and how hot his Power Armor suddenly felt around him.

“Don't,” he implored her. “Please.”

“All right, all right. I know KL-E-0 is a little, uh, intimidating. Didn't think you were _that_ scared of her, but...”

“I wasn't scared of her,” Danse lied. “Brotherhood Paladins aren't afraid of _anything_.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Margot. “This one's still scared of unexpected Deathclaws. And not coming home to her boy one day.”

“Don't worry, Margot,” Danse told her. “As long as I'm around, you have nothing to fear out in the Commonwealth. You point, I'll shoot. Remember?”

Margot fell silent as they crossed the bridge to Sanctuary Hills. The streetlamps blazed like beacons, but only a few porch lamps were alight at this late hour; the settlement's inhabitants had long since extinguished the lights in their houses and gone to bed. Even the neon signs on the public buildings had been switched off for the night.

She looked at the Pip-Boy on her left wrist and checked the time.

“Twelve-thirty,” she announced. “Wow. We should have been home _hours_ ago. I really hope Shaun wasn't waiting up for me.”

“I'm sure Codsworth put him to bed hours ago,” said Danse. “He knows zero dark thirty isn't an appropriate bedtime for a boy of Shaun's age.”

Margot lowered her head in shame.

“You're probably right, but I still feel bad about coming home so late.”

She looked up again and gave him a sideways glance, and then a little smile.

“Still... that was fun, wasn't it?”

“It was. We should do that again sometime.”

“Next time I'll make popcorn,” Margot promised. “And we'll bring more Gum Drops.”

Danse smiled a little.

“Sounds good to me. We could bring Shaun, too, if you want. I think he'd enjoy the Grognak movie.”

“He might be a little young for that one,” said Margot, trying not to catch Danse's eye. It was a lie; _Grognak the Barbarian: The Movie_ had been rated PG, much to the disappointment of comic book fans everywhere, but she wasn't sure she liked the thought of anyone else intruding on movie night with Danse. Not even Shaun. There was something a little unseemly about the prospect of having her son innocently eating popcorn beside them while she smeared her lipstick all over Danse's face.

_Good moms don't bring their kids along on date night. That's why babysitters were invented. Wait... date night? Did Danse and I just go on a date without either of us noticing? Oh hell. I think we did. I'm blushing. I hope it's too dark for him to see._

The moon had risen high in the sky; its pale light had painted Sanctuary Hills in a thousand shades of silver and black. They were already passing the Minutemen barracks, with the faction's sky-blue flag on proud display outside.

 _Almost home_ , she thought, feeling her heart drop as she saw the porch lights of her house, and Dogmeat's doghouse in the front yard. She was tired; exhausted, even. Her eyelids felt as heavy as her legs. And yet she could have kept walking alongside Danse for hours, striding along in their Power Armor without a care in the world and talking about nothing very much. The thought of having to part ways wrenched painfully at her.

She caught his arm, and stopped him beneath a streetlamp.

“Danse?”

“Yes?”

White light shone down on them both as they looked at each other. There was something warm and gentle in his face tonight, Margot thought. Illuminated by sodium light and stars, he was handsome; she wanted to reach up and run her fingers through the black hair he combed so meticulously back from his face, and feel time stop all around her as she lost herself in the endless darkness of his eyes.

“I'd appreciate it if you said something,” he said, after a moment.

 _I love you,_ she wanted to say. Her lips burned with the desire to blurt out the words. She could think of a dozen reasons why she couldn't say them, and yet none of those terribly good reasons seemed to matter. The whole world seemed to have shrunk down to the little circle of lamplight they stood in.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” she said instead. “For all your help today. And for making everything better. I... really enjoyed being with you this evening. Can we do this again sometime?”

“I'd, uh - I'd like that,” said Danse. He looked down shyly, but he was smiling. “Shame the end of the world put a stop to things like brunch.”

“Then let's have breakfast,” Margot suggested. “Why don't you come over to our place tomorrow morning and eat with us? Then we can take that stupid ant head over to the barracks and talk shop with Preston about what needs to be done next.”

“All right. Oh-eight hundred hours?”

“Sounds perfect. See you then.”

“See you then,” Danse agreed. “Goodnight, Margot.”

“Goodnight, Danse.”

They smiled at each other, then broke off their gaze and walked away; Margot went to the carport of her house, and her Power Armor station, while Danse continued on down the street.

Danse looked over his shoulder and watched Margot step out of her Power Armor. She looked so fragile outside the suit, like a porcelain figurine. The thought of that petite Pre-War housewife pinned down against the broken surface of a Concord street, petrified, as a Deathclaw roared in her face, made shudders of horror run through his whole body. Fresh out of the Vault. No combat experience. She could so easily have been killed. If it hadn't been for that Power Armor, and her will to survive, she would never have made it as far as Cambridge Police Station.

_Well, that's tonight's nightmare fuel. A Deathclaw ripping open my protégée's Power Armor while Maxson yells at me for sponsoring her in the first place. I'm starting to wish Margot hadn't told me that part of the story. Now all I want to do is run back to her house and hug her. Hold her tight until she promises she'll never do anything so foolhardy again. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost her out there..._

A loud, happy bark greeted her at the back door of her house.

“Well hey, buddy! You didn't need to wait up for me! Who's a good boy, waiting for me? You are! Yes, you are!”

He smiled as he saw her get down on her hands and knees to hug Dogmeat.

_Safely home, where she belongs. I'll make sure she gets to come home every day to Shaun, and Dogmeat, and Codsworth. They need her, and so does Sanctuary Hills. This place would fall apart in five minutes without her. Everything would. I have to keep her safe._

The beginnings of another headache were starting to pulse around his temples, and the back of his head. Probably fatigue. He winced, and reached for the bottle of painkillers Doctor Allison had given him. If they didn't work, he'd try the Calmex tonight. Maybe it would bring him sweeter dreams. Gum Drops and kisses on the cheek, instead of gunshots and the kiss of death.

He shook his head and walked away, to the tree covered in lights, and the dark house at the end of the street.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The concept of "primum non nocere" ("First do no harm") is one of the core principles of bioethics. Contrary to popular belief, the phrase doesn't actually appear in the modern Hippocratic Oath. It may have originated from the Classical Greek text, "Epidemics", which forms part of the body of works known as the Hippocratic Corpus and does contain the wording: "The physician must ... have two special objects in view with regard to disease, namely, to do good or to do no harm". (Close enough, I guess.)
> 
> "Love Sets Sail!" is an actual movie in the Fallout universe, mentioned in Fallout: New Vegas - the very first line of dialogue from that scene was based on Vera Keyes' audition tape, which can be found in the Dead Money DLC. "Those!" was a quest in Fallout 3 and derived its title from the 1954 movie "Them!", a black-and-white creature feature about giant ants mutated by atomic radiation. (I don't think "Grognak the Barbarian: The Movie" exists in-universe, but it probably should.)


	5. Moments In Time

Her fists pounded uselessly against the glass. She screamed, but nobody could hear her. The gunshot rang out and blood coated the inside of Nate's cryopod. Hands lifted the bundle of blankets from her husband's cold, dead hands and spirited the bawling infant away.

“No! Let me out, you sons of bitches! Nate! _Nate! Shaun!_ ”

The glass in front of her distorted and changed. On the other side was the main engine chamber of ArcJet Systems. A courageous man in gleaming armor, surrounded on all sides by early-generation Institute synths, bellowing for her to do something – anything. Her fist slammed down on a button, and the countdown began.

He was going to get out of the way. Of course he was. He'd run to safety and let those metal bastards burn as the rocket engine roared to life. But as the countdown progressed and she watched him struggle, she realized that he was in trouble.

_Three..._

“What are you doing? Get out of there!”

_Two..._

“Come on! You can do it! Just get to safety!”

_One..._

“Please!” she was screaming now. “Run! Just run!”

But the jet engine had ignited and now it was bathing everything in fire. The walls and floor, the skeleton-like robots which writhed in synthetic agony, and the figure in Power Armor, who was sinking to the floor.

She screamed again, pounding on the glass, then collapsed against the control console with a howl that tore up her chest from the inside. She'd killed him. She'd killed a soldier; a brave man who'd signed up with the descendants of the United States Army to protect his country from threats within and without. He was a hero, like Nate, and she'd just burned him alive with a single press of a button.

“Oh God... why... why didn't you just get out of the way?”

Flames roared up from the Power Armor, licking at the paint with tongues of fire. He was still crouched in the same position on the floor, motionless.

“Paladin Danse, I'm so sorry!” she wept. “I never meant to hurt you – oh God! _Danse!_ ”

*

“Rise and shine, mum!”

Margot awoke with a small scream to the sight of Codsworth's polite, concerned face as he hovered just inside the doorway. The black pupils and gray irises of his eye sensors were expanding and contracting around each other in a delicate dance of robotic calibration. Although Codsworth could never be mistaken for a human, his makers at General Atomics had taken the trouble to give him a few features which were _slightly_ reminiscent of human ones - particularly his eye sensors, which were sufficiently human to be friendly and familiar, but still very evidently robotic in nature. She wondered how many consumer focus groups that feature alone had gone through during the course of the Mister Handy robot's development. Probably a ludicrous number, she concluded. Back in the world before the war, the customer had been king and queen; from the moment they'd taken him out of his box, Codsworth had treated his master and mistress accordingly.

“Codsworth,” she panted. Panic was still making her chest heave. “Oh God, it's you... is everything all right?”

“It's morning, mum,” he prompted her. “Another splendid day in the Commonwealth. Up and at 'em! Or should that be up and _atom_ nowadays?”

The robot chuckled with laughter at his own joke.

“Codsworth, you've been spending too much time around MacCready,” Margot sighed. She swung her legs off the bed and got up, letting the blanket fall back into place. “That was positively dire. Even the dinosaurs groaned at that one back in the day.”

“Sorry, mum. I thought a little levity might brighten your mood. I trust you slept well?”

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Hardly. Nightmares again.”

Codsworth's expressions were subtle, but she'd learned how to read them. His stance seemed to soften; his robotic arms relaxed, and the size of his eyes changed, ever so slightly.

“Oh, mum. I _am_ sorry to hear that. You seemed so happy when you came home last night; I was hoping your dreams would be rather more pleasant than they have been of late. Were you dreaming about sir again?”

“Vault 111. And ArcJet. Being stuck behind a sheet of glass while I watch people I care about die.”

“ArcJet, mum? Where you and Paladin Danse went on your first mission? But he's right as rain! Rocket engine or no rocket engine, you can't keep a good man down! Incidentally, mum, he's waiting for you in the front room. He and Master Shaun are watching television. That _broadcast_ is on again.”

“The AntAgonizer?”

“The very same, mum. Still carrying on about ants and taking over the Commonwealth. I'm beginning to feel a little sorry for her, if truth be told. I suspect the woman may be a trifle unhinged.”

“Codsworth, you're the master of understatement.”

“I endeavor to please, mum. Now, may I be of assistance in getting you ready this morning? I do hate to rush you, but it really is about time that you got up and about. Sleeping in is all very well, but it's bad manners to keep guests waiting.”

Margot gave a start.

“Sleeping in? What? What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty, mum,” said Codsworth helpfully, as she grabbed the Wakemaster alarm clock from her nightstand and stared at it in dismay, then compared the time to the display on her Pip-Boy.

“Shit!” she hissed. “Codsworth, why didn't you wake me up?”

“That _was_ my intention, mum, but Paladin Danse told me not to. He said it was his fault for bringing you home so late last night, and that I ought to let you catch up on your beauty sleep.”

“Danse isn't in charge of this household, Codsworth,” she reminded him firmly. “ _I_ am. I know you were trying to help, but please do as I say next time.”

“Quite so, mum. My apologies. Now what will you be wearing today? Perhaps the green dress? Or do you prefer the rose?”

“No, I'll take the t-shirt and slacks, please, Codsworth.”

“Very good, mum. Here you are.”

He opened a drawer and passed her some clothes from the dresser. She thanked him and changed her clothes, dropping her sweat-stained nightshirt on the floor.

“Does that need to go in the wash?”

“Yes, please. If you wouldn't mind.”

“Not at all! Oh – your hairbrush, mum.”

“Thank you.”

Margot took the silver-backed hairbrush from one outstretched steel arm and ran it through her hair. The bristles raked through the tangles which last night's breeze had put into the dark tresses; she gave the brush a twist as she reached the end of each lock of hair, to accentuate the long, loose waves which culminated in smaller, tighter curls. The hairdresser in Diamond City had called the style “Evening Out”. So had his predecessor in Concord, although Fabien - the owner of her favorite salon - was now long dead.

_Over two hundred years with the same hairstyle. Maybe I need to mix it up a bit. Grow it out a little longer and tie it up in a chignon. Or I could really go for broke and shave the sides of my head, like that new settler I met at Nordhagen. I wonder what Danse would have to say about that?_

“Mom! Where are you? It's time for breakfast!” she heard Shaun complain from the next room. “Come on, hurry up! We're hungry!”

“Coming, darling,” she called, hurrying down the corridor as Codsworth disappeared into the laundry room with last night's shirt.

Shaun was sitting upside-down on the couch, with his legs dangling over the back and the top of his head almost brushing the floor.

“You're right. She doesn't look so scary when she's upside-down,” he was giggling. “She looks silly!”

“She _is_ silly, Shaun. Just some madwoman who thinks she's a comic book character,” said Danse gravely, beside him. He was sitting the right way up; back straight, hands folded neatly in his lap. “But don't you worry about her. Your mother and I will be sure to put a stop to her antics. This kind of nonsense has no place in the Commonwealth.”

 _Your mother and I._ The words made Margot's breath escape from her lips in a soft sigh.

Danse looked up, and back over his shoulder. When he saw Margot standing at the threshold of the living room, he stood up and turned around to face her.

“Margot - ”

“If you joined the Minutemen, Mr. Danse, you're supposed to call her _General_ ,” Shaun corrected him. “My mom's in charge of everyone in the Minutemen. Even Mr. Garvey!”

Danse looked embarrassed.

“Of course. Quite right,” he said, and coughed. “Uh. General. Good morning, ma'am. Do I have your permission to join you and your family for breakfast?”

Margot couldn't quite hide a smile behind her hand as he saluted.

“Of course you may join us, Danse,” she said. “We'd be delighted to have you.”

To her son, she said:

“Shaun, why don't you go and feed Dogmeat? He hasn't had his breakfast yet. There are some cans of dog food in the laundry room.”

“Mom! You _know_ I can't reach the wall cabinet yet!”

“Codsworth will help you. Go on, off you go.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Shaun rolled off the couch and ran past her in the hallway. He returned a few moments later, holding an open can of dog food.

“Hey, Dogmeat!” he called. “You hungry, boy?”

Dogmeat had been dozing peacefully underneath the coffee table; at the sound of his name, he perked up and hurried over to his food bowl. He looked up at Shaun with a joyful, expectant face.

“Time for breakfast!” Shaun announced, and tipped the contents into the blue plastic food bowl in the corner beside the dining table. Dogmeat immediately stuck his face into the bowl and wolfed down the mess of jellied meat.

“Yes, indeed, Master Shaun!” agreed Codsworth, floating out of the laundry room. The little jet thruster which kept him aloft reminded Margot for a second of the ArcJet rocket. With a lump forming in her throat, she looked over at Danse.

In the dream, he'd died. In real life, his Power Armor had shielded him from the blast and prevented him from being baked alive. He'd walked away from the mission with only a few minor contact burns from the inside of his superheated armor; Margot had walked away with a week's worth of continuous nightmares about seeing her new brother in Steel aflame.

 _Talk about a trial by fire,_ she thought, as Codsworth chattered happily and adjusted some of the table settings. _I'm so glad he's okay._

“All right, everyone! Breakfast is served! Tuck in!” he said, and gestured to the table with his buzzsaw attachment.

Shaun ran to the metal-framed chair at the closest end of the table and sat down. He leaned over to pat Dogmeat's head.

“Master Shaun, don't disturb Dogmeat while he's eating,” Codsworth reminded him gently. “You might startle him, sir. I'm sure he wouldn't mean to snap at you, but all the same - ”

“Sorry, Codsworth,” said Shaun hastily. “I won't do it again.”

“No need to apologize, young sir! I would be remiss in my duty if I didn't warn you about a potential hazard, big or small. Just remember that it's never wise to disturb an animal while it's eating, not even a friendly one like good old Dogmeat.”

“Codsworth, could you switch the television off?” said Margot, as she and Danse took their seats at the table. “We shouldn't watch the idiot box while we're eating. Especially when there are real live idiots on the air,” she added, nodding her head toward the AntAgonizer, who was still gesticulating angrily on the screen as she threatened to bring ants and doom to the Commonwealth.

“Straight away, mum!”

Codsworth zipped across the room and switched off the television.

“So what's on the menu today, Codsworth?” Margot asked him, as he drifted back.

“Toast, mum! Fresh Razorgrain bread and some Brahmin-milk butter. Breakfast cereal – Sugar Bombs, of course, Master Shaun's favorite! Some Mutfruit for afters. Coffee to drink for you and Paladin Danse, and some nice nourishing Brahmin milk for Master Shaun.”

“Sounds delicious. Hey, Codsworth, could you hit the radio for us?”

“Margot, don't be lazy. It's right there,” Danse said, exasperated. “It – oh, here, let me.”

He got up from his seat at the far end of the table and went over to the cabinet. A wireless radio sat next to a squeaky-clean Pre-War globe. He turned the dial, but nothing happened. He frowned and tried to adjust some of the settings.

“You actually have to _hit_ the radio,” Margot said helpfully. “Sorry. I salvaged it from an old building in Lexington. It's never worked properly.”

“Give it a good thump, sir,” Codsworth suggested. “That ought to get it going!”

Danse gave the casing a sound smack with the palm of his hand; the dial lit up, and the smooth sounds of Diamond City Radio's jazz playlist issued forth from the radio set.

“Lucky you weren't wearing your Power Armor. You'd have smashed it to bits,” said Margot.

“Well, you said no more Power Armor in the house,” said Danse, as he sat down again. “Except if we're carrying heavy items.”

“Yes, I did. You almost took out my favorite vase when you were stomping around with that desk the other day.”

Shaun was pouring Sugar Bombs into his cereal bowl. He added a splash of Brahmin milk to the bowl, then said:

“Hey, Mom. Mr. Danse showed me that ant head you guys brought back from Oberland Station. It's pretty neat! Stinky, but neat. How many of them were there?”

“Too many,” said Margot, picking up her butter knife and spreading some of the pale yellow Brahmin butter on a precisely-cut slice of toast. “But they're dead. They won't bother the settlers any more.”

“That's good. Oh yeah - thanks for my hot plate! Codsworth said you got back late, so he left it on the counter for me this morning. I'm going to use the parts to try and fix that old holotape player by the window.”

Margot glanced at the holotape player in the living room. The wooden console had collapsed in on itself years ago. Even the scavengers hadn't bothered trying to strip it for parts.

“It's been broken for years, sweetheart. I don't think even Mr. Sturges could fix it.”

“Can I try anyway?”

“Sure, you go ahead. But get Mr. Sturges to help you. It's dangerous to mess with electrical equipment if you don't know what you're doing.”

“I know what I'm doing, Mom,” Shaun said confidently. “Don't worry. I don't need any help.”

“Either Mr. Sturges helps you, or you don't lay a finger on it,” Margot warned him. “No arguments. I don't want you electrocuting yourself!”

“All right,” Shaun sighed. “Hey, Mom, I think I might need a vacuum tube too. Do you know where I can find one?”

“Why don't we try the market later? Mr. Sullivan might have one,” said Margot. “The Vault-Tec guy,” she added, seeing Danse's look of confusion.

Danse glowered.

“You mean the Ghoul?”

Margot gave him a warning look.

“ _Yes,_ Danse, I mean the Ghoul. His name is Paul Sullivan. And if he hadn't insisted that Nate and I enroll ourselves in Vault 111 on the day the bombs dropped, I would be extremely dead and we would not be having breakfast together right now. I owe him my life. Try to show a little courtesy when you see him next.”

“Fine,” Danse grumbled, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “But don't expect us to be friends.”

“Heaven forfend,” said Margot, rolling her eyes. “That's a sure sign of the next apocalypse.”

Shaun looked up in surprise.

“Why don't you like Ghouls, Mr. Danse? Mr. Sullivan is nice. He gave me a sweet roll once.”

“The Brotherhood of Steel thinks that Ghouls are dangerous, Shaun,” Margot cut in, before Danse could say something undiplomatic. “It's because they've been irradiated. Normally they're okay, but sometimes they can get very old and sick, especially if they've been exposed to too much radiation, and their brains give out. When that happens, they turn Feral. Feral Ghouls are dangerous because they don't know what they're doing, and they attack people without meaning to. But normal Ghouls are okay. Like Mr. Sullivan and Mayor Hancock. They're our friends and they won't hurt us, so don't worry.”

“You don't like Super Mutants either, do you, Mr. Danse?” said Shaun.

“Super Mutants are a menace,” growled Danse. “They need to be destroyed. Especially that tame one your mother sent to Hangman's Alley. One of these days, he's going to turn on the settlers and smash everything to bits.”

“Strong's harmless,” said Margot, scowling at him. “Unless I tell him not to be. _Nobody_ destroys him on my watch. End of discussion, Danse. And you too, Shaun. We don't talk about being unkind to people in this house.”

“Except the AntAgonizer,” piped up Shaun, through a mouthful of Sugar Bombs.

“Except the AntAgonizer,” Margot conceded. “She's deranged. Now let's talk about something else. How did you boys sleep last night?”

“I slept okay,” said Shaun, swallowing the last of his cereal. He scraped the bottom of the blue plastic bowl with his spoon. “I was going to stay up and wait for you to come home last night, but Codsworth made me go to bed.”

“I'm glad he did. We got home very late last night.”

“Where were you guys?” Shaun asked. “I thought you were only going to Oberland Station. How come you got back so late?”

“We stopped off at Starlight Drive-In to pick up your hot plate,” Margot answered. “And a few other things. Sorry, Shaun. We were there a little longer than we intended.”

“May I say that I'm positively _thrilled_ to see our old drapes back again, mum?” Codsworth cut in, from across the room. “You did very well to find those after all these years. I'm only embarrassed that I couldn't prevent those scavengers from nabbing them in the first place. They were much too quick for me. I was at the other end of Sanctuary Hills, trying to trim the hedges; by the time I noticed something was amiss, they'd already stripped the place bare. Bloody vultures. I apologize once again for failing in my duties, mum. If only I'd been more vigilant...”

“Don't worry about it, Codsworth. Will you help me put them back up later?”

Codsworth perked up.

“With pleasure, mum!”

Margot looked across at Danse. The grouchy expression on his face had disappeared; he was eating a slice of buttered toast with a few cut Mutfruit slices on top, and making appreciative noises. He'd looked rather pallid in recent weeks, but the dark shadows under his eyes didn't seem so deep, and a healthier color seemed to have returned to his face.

“You sleep all right last night, Danse?” she inquired.

“ _Mmmf._ Yes. Much better. The painkillers make me drowsy, but that helped me get to sleep. I didn't even need the Calmex.”

Shaun looked concerned.

“Are you sick, Mr. Danse?”

“No, Shaun, I'm all right,” said Danse. “Just some headache trouble keeping me up at night. The doctor in Starlight Drive-In gave me some medicine for it. Nothing to worry about; I'll be fine.”

Shaun's face cleared.

“That's good,” he said. “I don't want you to get sick.”

The music ended. They glanced up at the radio as the DJ's familiar voice took over; even Dogmeat looked up from his water bowl.

“ _Welcome back, listeners, this is Travis “Lonely” Miles here. Hope you enjoyed that last song - Ella Fitzgerald, with “Undecided”. Coming up next, more music to start your Monday right, but first, the latest news. Settlers in Oberland Station are pleased to report that a nearby giant ant infestation has been wiped out, so caravan traders and picnic enthusiasts are welcome back to the area once again. A longtime listener reports that we can thank General de Havilland and the Minutemen's latest recruit, one Captain Danse, for their pest control efforts... and a very big hole in the ground. Rumors that they used a giant magnifying glass have proved to be unfounded, despite the scorch marks.”_

“Hey Mom, did you hear that?” Shaun almost squealed. “Mr. Miles was talking about you and Mr. Danse on the radio! You guys are _famous!_ ”

“ _Say, Danse,”_ the DJ reflected out loud. _“That's a familiar name. Wasn't he the Paladin who left the Brotherhood of Steel? If they're one and the same, then here's a message to all our faithful listeners at Boston Airport – you might want to lay off the guy if he's hanging with the General these days. You don't want to get on the bad side of the Commonwealth's favorite pistol-packing mama! Speaking of which, here's Bing Crosby, with “Pistol Packin' Mama”. This one goes out to you, General!”_

“Sweet! I got a shout-out!” said Margot, thrilled, as the music began to play. “Two years of adventuring and I finally got a shout-out!”

Danse smiled.

“ _And_ a song dedication. I think that merits a high-five, soldier.”

They high-fived diagonally across the table.

“Hell yeah!”

“ _Ad victoriam!”_

“Very well done, you two!” Codsworth congratulated them. “Having Mr. Miles talk about your exploits on the radio is _quite_ the accolade – you must have made a superb team out there in the wastes if he thought your names deserved a mention!”

“Hey, Dogmeat, did you hear that?” Shaun said, slipping out of his chair and patting Dogmeat on the head. “Mom and Mr. Danse are famous! Neat, huh? Hey, Mom, I'm finished. Can Dogmeat and I go play outside?”

“Of course, sweetie. You two have fun. Why don't you take that old baseball and see if he'll play fetch?”

“Okay! Come on, Dogmeat, let's play!”

Shaun and Dogmeat ran out through the back door, into the yard.

“Well, I guess that's our excitement for the day,” remarked Margot. She poured herself the last of the coffee from the chrome-plated Luxobrew pot. “Do you want to head over to the barracks and find Preston when we're done eating? I think that would be a good idea.”

“Agreed. We should probably report in soon,” said Danse. “I wonder if they're saying anything about us on Radio Freedom?”

Margot sipped her coffee.

“Almost certainly. If Preston hasn't heard from one of the caravans already, I'll be sure to tell him. We promised Minuteman Turner we'd pass the information on. Which reminds me, _Captain_ Danse, we're going to have to get you a new uniform. I think that jumpsuit you're wearing is about ready to walk into your Power Armor all on its own.”

Danse shifted in his seat.

“I'm sorry. You know I don't have any other clothes. I could have purchased something else to wear at Starlight Drive-In, but you were so busy trying to beat the living daylights out of that clothing vendor that I never got the chance to ask him what he was selling - apart from other people's property, that is.”

“Don't remind me,” said Margot. Her knuckles whitened around the handle of her coffee cup. “I should have told that shady motherfucker to clear out after the time I caught him selling stolen Minuteman uniforms. Or just shot him in the face.”

“Well, that would certainly have put a stop to his activities,” said Danse. He looked a little taken aback by the force in her words. “But I can't say I recommend that course of action, soldier. Traders won't stop by the settlements if they think the founder's going to shoot them in the face. Commercial traffic is the lifeblood of places like Starlight Drive-In. They can't survive on subsistence farming alone. Scare the traders away, and - ”

“Yeah, I _know_ , Danse. What part of “don't remind me” didn't you get? Ugh. You know what, I might ask Codsworth if he can wash your uniform.”

Danse looked panicky.

“Then what am I going to wear?”

Margot looked him up and down.

“Hmm... yeah, I think you're about Nate's size. I found an old flannel shirt and jeans of his in the dresser when I first got back here. Scavvers missed those. You can borrow them if you want. And for the love of God, please take a shower while you're at it. We have running water here. Mostly. Hopefully it won't cut out on you while you're still covered in soap, like it did to me the last time I tried to use it. Lucky we're near the river. I had to grab some towels and make a dash for it.”

Danse looked uncomfortably at the wall. He didn't really want to dwell on the image of Margot covered in soap.

_Oh God. There's not enough cold water in the world. Back up from that thought, Danse, or you'll never be able to get up from the table..._

“Hey, Codsworth!” Margot called. “Will you get those old clothes of Nate's out of the dresser so Danse can change? He's going to borrow them for a while. And can you please wash his uniform? Is the running water working?”

“Yes, mum, but the water still isn't heating up as it should, even after Mr. Sturges' adjustments. Just lukewarm for now, I'm afraid.”

“Fine by me,” said Danse quickly. He got up from the table and edged past her. “I, uh – I think I'll take that shower, if you don't mind.”

“Sure. There are towels in the bathroom. And soap. Go freshen up, and then we'll go and see Preston.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Codsworth followed him to the bathroom.

“All right, sir, let's get you changed!” Margot heard him say. His cheerful tones echoed off the bathroom tiles. “I'll be right back with some fresh clothes, and then we can get that jumpsuit in the wash. You'll feel stacks better when you're done, I'm sure!”

Margot picked up her coffee cup again and leaned to her left, toward the hallway; she idly observed the robot's passage to her room, and then back to the bathroom. She heard the sounds of rustling cloth and unbuckled straps, and almost sprayed a mouthful of coffee across the room when an orange jumpsuit and a pair of briefs caught Codsworth full in the face.

“Oh, I say!” said the robot, startled. He recovered, and extended an arm to hand over the fresh clothes he'd brought from the dresser. He bent to pick up the fallen garments from the floor. “Sorry about that, sir. Should have caught those. Do you need anything else?”

“No, thanks,” she heard Danse say. His voice was muffled; she could hear running water. “Just some privacy.”

“Understood, sir. I'll take care of these for you.”

Codsworth bustled away, his arms full of clothes. He reappeared, moments later. The Pre-War washing machine which she and Sturges had fixed was clanking away loudly in the next room; it had once hummed quietly, but it had been the best they could do with a few scrounged tools and a long-expired manufacturer's warranty.

“I hope you aren't planning to spy on him, mum,” he said disapprovingly, when he caught Margot's eyes straying toward the bathroom doorway. “You've got a _look_ on your face.”

“Perish the thought,” Margot said innocently, sipping her coffee. “It never crossed my mind.”

“Really, mum. Behave!”

“Aww, now what fun would that be?” she said, with a wicked sparkle in her eyes.

Codsworth sounded appalled.

“ _Mum!”_

She giggled into her coffee mug.

“Codsworth, it's all right, I'm only teasing.”

“What's gotten into you today, mum? You're giggling like a schoolgirl. Not that I'm not glad to see you in high spirits, but - ”

“We had a lovely evening at the drive-in,” said Margot. Her face relaxed into a small, gentle smile. “They fixed the projector there; we watched _Love Sets Sail!._ It's still absolute rot, but I think Danse enjoyed it. And he put his arm around me.”

“Crikey! Did he really?”

Margot felt her face start to redden at the recollection.

“Yes, he did. He was so sweet. I kissed him on the cheek.”

Codsworth looked sympathetic.

“You're very fond of him, aren't you, mum?”

With flaming cheeks, she nodded.

“Yes. Codsworth, I – I think I _like_ him. But I can't. I keep thinking about Nate. And Danse is under my command now. It wouldn't be right. I couldn't possibly - ”

“Never say never, mum,” said the robot jauntily. “I wouldn't worry about disciplinary action. You can hardly court-martial yourself, after all! Haha! And if you're worried about what _sir_ would think, well... I'm sorry to say it, mum, but sir isn't with us any more. But if he is looking down on you from the heavens, I don't think he'd mind too much if you took up with Paladin Danse. He cared very deeply for you, mum. I'm sure he'd just want you to be happy, even if that meant moving on without him.”

Margot sniffed back tears.

“But Codsworth, I _promised_. I told Nate I'd love him for ever and ever.”

“And there's no reason you have to stop loving the husband, mum,” said Codsworth kindly. “I know he'll always have a special place in your heart. But I'd like to think I knew sir quite well, and I believe he would have wanted you to learn how to be happy again, instead of clinging to his memory and making yourself miserable. He even said something along those lines one evening, before he went off to war. He said if anything ever happened to him, he wanted you to - ”

Danse strolled out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel. Margot felt her heart twist in her chest at the sight of him in Nate's old clothes. Jeans and an undershirt; he'd left the flannel shirt unbuttoned. The chain of his holotags was just visible around his neck. Some Brotherhood of Steel members kept theirs on proud display, but Danse had always kept his next to his heart, probably for the same reason she kept Nate's wedding ring on the same chain as her holotags.

She pulled out the Brotherhood holotags from beneath her t-shirt and looked at them. _De Havilland, Margot Nora. HV-111P._ A name and a number. Her rank, birth date, and blood type. It was all the Brotherhood of Steel had needed to know about her. She wondered if that was all Danse had ever really been to them - a name, and a number.

“Need anything else, sir?” Codsworth volunteered.

Danse folded the damp towel and put it back in the bathroom.

“I don't suppose you have a comb?” he asked.

“Right here, sir,” said Codsworth, promptly removing one from his storage compartment. “I always keep one on me. Never know when mum might need one when she's out and about.”

“Good man. A smart soldier is always prepared.”

Danse raked the comb through his hair, sweeping it neatly back from his face. Margot felt oddly disappointed.

_Shame. He looks cute with his hair ruffled. But that's Danse, always seeking order in the chaos. I shouldn't be surprised._

“Thanks, Codsworth,” he said, returning the comb. “That's better. Margot? Are you ready to leave?”

Margot drained her coffee and stood up.

“Ready to move out,” she said, saluting. “All right, soldier, let's go. Don't forget that ant head.”

*

Preston Garvey was sitting in the small office just off the mess hall, reading a newspaper, with his feet propped up on the desk. He looked up from the week-old copy of _Publick Occurrences_ at their approach, then jumped as something slammed on the wooden desk.

“General. Paladin Danse,” he stammered. “Is – that what I think it is?”

“Yep,” said Margot, cracking her knuckles. She nodded down at Preston's newest and most macabre paperweight. “A _very_ dead giant ant. Minuteman Turner's report was correct. We've destroyed the nest at Oberland Station.”

“Word about that's getting round, General,” said Preston politely. “I heard Travis talking about it on Diamond City Radio this morning. It's already on Radio Freedom. Well done, ma'am.”

“I couldn't have done it without Captain Danse,” said Margot, clapping Danse on the back. “Meet our newest addition to the Minutemen, Preston.”

Preston beamed.

“Another new recruit! _Excellent._ Welcome to the Minutemen, Captain. We're glad to have you aboard.”

He stood up and stuck out his hand; Danse shook it.

“Thank you, Colonel Garvey. It's an honor to serve with you, sir.”

“The pleasure's all mine, Captain Danse. We're always glad to have recruits with proper combat training. Ranking officers are especially welcome; I'm sure the other men will benefit from your experience. We'll have to take you over to The Castle so you can help train some of our recruits. I know Major Shaw will be glad of the help.”

“How is Ronnie?” said Margot.

“Doing fine, ma'am,” said Preston. “She sends her regards. Everything's looking good over at The Castle and the new recruits are shaping up well. We've got three of them on artillery training and the rest are doing the standard drills. I did have to discipline one of them for smoking on guard duty, I'm afraid. Ten demerits. Other than that, nothing to report.”

“I see you made the trip in record time, Preston. Hitch a ride with one of the caravans?”

Preston nodded.

“Yes, ma'am. Quickest way to go. So tell me a little more about the ant problem at Oberland Station. How many were there?”

“Sorry, Preston,” said Margot. “We didn't count bodies. There was a whole nest full of them and they swarmed us. Did I mention that they also breathe fire? You'll have to excuse the smell of burning hair. I don't think my eyebrows are going to be the same for a while.”

Preston's eyebrows seemed similarly traumatized; they shot up, and appeared to get stuck there.

“Fire-breathing ants?” he said weakly. “I thought I'd seen just about everything the Commonwealth had to throw at me. Guess I was wrong. And you said there was a whole nest of them?”

“ _Was_ ,” Margot was careful to emphasize. “But we took care of that. Dropped a grenade in the hole and brought down the whole nest on them. I'd like to send a squad out to excavate the remains and see how far the tunnels extended. I'm concerned that the tunnels might run underneath Oberland Station; we need to make sure everything's structurally sound.”

“The last thing we need is a sinkhole swallowing up settlers,” Preston agreed. “All right. I'll send word to The Castle and get Major Shaw to send out a squad to investigate what's left.”

Margot nodded.

“Good. Just tell them to be careful, okay? There may still be some survivors which escaped the blast. Make sure they're well-armed and armored, and that they have a supply of Stimpaks in case they encounter anything nasty down there.”

“No laser weapons, and no open flames,” Danse added. “The chemicals those things use for their fire breath might have built up in the nest, and there's a risk that the vapor could ignite with a stray spark. Even with fireproof armor, that kind of conflagration will rip the oxygen out of the air and they run the risk of suffocation. I recommend they bring facial protection - helmets at the least, and gas masks if they have them.”

“Good call, Captain,” Preston agreed. “It's just a shame we don't have any Power Armor we could put them in.”

“Preston, I have an entire workshop full of Power Armor just up the street,” said Margot, sighing. “Tell them to take a few suits of mine and head out as soon as possible. You've worn Power Armor before - that set of T-51 you helped me bring back one time. Teach them how to use it, but tell them to be careful with it. If they break it, I expect them to repair it to my _exact_ specifications.”

“Sorry, General. I wasn't trying to drop hints.”

“No, that's fine,” she said curtly. “Whatever gets the job done. But I want it back in the same condition it left in. And under no circumstances is the T-60d Paladin suit in the central stand to be used. That armor is the property of the Brotherhood of Steel and is _not_ to be utilized by Minutemen personnel. If anyone lays a finger on it, they're marching naked through the Glowing Sea until either all the Deathclaws and Radscorpions are dead, or they are.”

“Understood, ma'am. Classified technology?”

“Something like that,” said Margot cautiously. “Either way, it's off-limits. You can take any other suit in the place, but not that one. And not the one I stashed out in my carport either. That's for my personal use only.”

“Thank you, General. I'll make sure they're careful with those suits. I know you put a lot of time and effort into maintaining those things. If you'd like me to lead the team out there myself, so they can work under my supervision, I'd be glad to do that.”

Margot inclined her head in a respectful nod.

“I'd appreciate that, Preston. Thank you. Just be careful down there, okay?”

“I will, General. Do you have any more intel for me?”

“No, that's about everything I've got. Please let me know if any of the other settlements report ant sightings. Captain Danse advised me that the Brotherhood of Steel encountered ants at University Point.”

“Speaking of ant sightings, have you seen that strange woman's broadcasts on the television?” said Preston. “She looks like she stepped out of one of those old comic books, but the things she's been saying are... well, a little disturbing. A lot of talk about taking over the Commonwealth and facing her wrath. Nothing left of the world but her and the ants. That sort of thing.”

“Yes, we've seen them,” said Margot calmly. “Tell people not to worry. If these ant attacks are her doing, Danse and I will put a stop to them. I'm not going to let some crazy woman hurt innocent people for the sake of some half-assed attempt at world domination.”

“Perhaps you could dress up as the Silver Shroud again and scare her off,” said Preston hopefully. “You did a good job of cleaning up the streets of Goodneighbor with that persona. I always did like those old radio plays.”

“There's fighting fire with fire, and then there's fighting absurdity with absurdity,” Danse cut in. “I don't think there's any need for her to resort to that, Colonel.”

Preston laughed.

“Oh, come on, Danse. You have to admit that was pretty cool!”

“A little,” said Danse, somewhat begrudgingly. “But with respect, sir, dispensing righteous justice to a few two-bit Raider thugs doesn't really compare to taking down a crazed woman in a costume who may or may not command a horde of giant fire-breathing ants. I think we'd be well-advised to treat this situation with a little more gravity. She's clearly unstable and potentially dangerous.”

“Good point,” said Preston. He turned to Margot. “General, what do you think?”

“I think it's about time we went after her,” said Margot. She smacked her fist into the palm of her other hand. “And to do that, we need to track down where that damn broadcast's coming from. Preston, do we have a map we can look over?”

Preston rummaged through the contents of a desk drawer and unrolled a crudely-drawn map which had been plotted on the back of a tattered Super-Duper Mart advertising poster. The edges of the paper were ragged and worn; the map itself was written in the blue-black ink of a Pre-War ballpoint pen.

“Here, ma'am. All currently known locations in the Commonwealth. Thanks to that data on your Pip-Boy, we've been able to add a lot of topographic detail and some new markers. I'm going to have some copies made and distributed to the other Minutemen outposts. What are we looking for, exactly?”

They leaned over the desktop to pore over the map.

“We're looking for any location with the facilities to produce and relay television broadcasts, and possibly radio signals,” Margot told them, as they put their heads together. “I think the most likely source is the old GNN Plaza, _here_.”

She pointed out a location marked with a radio tower symbol, in the marshlands toward the south of the map.

“Our most recent intelligence indicated that it's still occupied by Gunners,” she continued. “If that's true, we can probably expect heavy resistance if we go in fighting. Infiltration may be our best option. If the GNN Plaza turns up nothing, then we'll need to look at other locations, such as Trinity Tower, WRVR, or facilities related to the radio relay towers. There may be some limited television broadcasting equipment there, left over from the old Civil Alert system.”

“I suggest that we also look into former military and government installations, such as Fort Hagen or USAF Satellite Station Olivia, if we have difficulties tracking the signal,” said Danse. His index finger moved across the map to pick out the respective locations. “In the event of a nuclear attack like the one which started the Great War, Pre-War domestic television and radio stations could be remotely shut down by the authorities to prevent enemy bombers from homing in on the signals and using active radio towers as beacons for navigation. The Civil Alert and emergency broadcast systems would have been the only ones functioning on the day the bombs fell.”

Margot shivered.

“I remember. After I went to Fort Hagen to hunt down Kellogg and find Shaun, I heard a radio signal coming from the satellite array. It was playing the emergency broadcast from the day the bombs fell, reporting nuclear strikes all along the East Coast and warning everyone to seek shelter from radioactive fallout. That same message, over and over on a loop, for more than two hundred years. Like it had just happened, and it was still happening... like the bombs were still falling...”

She felt Danse grip her shoulder as her hands started to shake.

“It's okay, Margot,” he said quietly. “It was just some Pre-War relic which nobody ever turned off. The war's over. There aren't any more bombs. Those days are done.”

She closed her eyes and clasped the hand on her shoulder, wrapping her fingers around Danse's and squeezing them tightly.

“I know... I'm sorry. It just brought everything back, all at once. That list of cities it kept reciting. Washington, D.C. - New York – Philadelphia - Boston. I kept hitting my Pip-Boy and screaming at the radio to shut up, to make it _stop_ , and the signal just kept playing over and over again. It was awful. I don't think I'll ever forget it.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” said Preston, lowering his eyes. “That must have been very difficult for you. Hearing it the first time must have been bad enough. Hearing it again out in the wastes and being reminded of that day all over again - I can't even imagine.”

“Like a time capsule from Hell,” said Margot, with a feeble little laugh. “Even Jamaica Plain didn't want to include it in the permanent collection.”

Preston chuckled.

“Ha! Jamaica Plain. I remember that. Man, what a trip! Walking into that vault after deactivating all those tripwires and laser turrets, expecting gold and jewels, and then finding a bunch of old Pre-War stuff. After all that trouble. Joke was on us, huh, General?”

Margot simply smiled. The “treasures” of Jamaica Plain had included a 2076 World Series bat, a Dawnshire vase, an Anchorage veteran's trifold flag, assorted sports memorabilia, and a few other Pre-War odds and ends which had showcased daily life before the bombs. Preston had roared with laughter when he saw the town's fabled artifacts, but he'd helped her carry them home anyway.

“Pre-War artifacts are more valuable than treasure,” Danse remarked. “They give us glimpses at moments in time that will never repeat.”

Preston looked at Danse, slightly incredulous. He didn't seem to have expected something so philosophical to come from the mouth of a scarred, battle-hardened Brotherhood Paladin.

“Wow. That's a... very profound observation, Captain,” he said slowly, but it didn't take long for his usual amiable smile to return to his face. “Heh. I suppose you're right. At least they turned out to be valuable to somebody. The General's keeping them in her floor safe right now. Better than leaving them down there for some Raider gang to smash them to bits, right?”

“Exactly,” said Danse. “They don't make things like that any more, and it would be a shame not to keep them for posterity. Taking them home to preserve them was the right thing to do. I'm sure the Commonwealth will thank you for your efforts one day, Margot. I know the Brotherhood of Steel appreciates it.”

“Thank you for saying so,” said Margot, flattered. “Honestly, it was just nice to see a little bit of the old world again. The Mayor of Jamaica Plain is probably rolling in her grave now that I've robbed her town of all its treasures, but... well. That's just how it goes out here.”

“You know what they say about all the best-laid plans of mice and men,” said Preston, with a little shrug. “Nothing's ever guaranteed, no matter how much you try to prepare for the future. One word, one small slip, and it all changes in an instant. But that's the Commonwealth for you.”

“All right, so it's agreed,” Margot concluded, before the conversation could digress further. “Danse and I will investigate the GNN Plaza. Preston, you'll bring a squad over to the workshop, get them set up with some Power Armor, and take them to Oberland Station to investigate and ensure everything is still safe.”

Preston saluted.

“Yes, ma'am. Orders received and understood.”

“Acknowledged,” said Danse, by way of assent.

“Then that's settled. We'll head out in - ”

Margot stopped mid-sentence as she heard a sound from outside the building. A deep, rumbling drone with an odd descending note; in the background, a faint whine, like the noise of rotors and engines.

“Hey, do you hear that?” she said.

Danse tilted his head to listen.

“Affirmative. I hear it too. Sounds like a Vertibird.”

“That can't be right,” said Preston, shaking his head vigorously. “We're _miles_ away from the usual Brotherhood of Steel flight paths. We see them frequently downtown, and they pass over some of the other settlements periodically, but not all the way out here. There's nothing out here of interest to them. And there's only one other group which uses Vertibirds.”

Margot felt a chill run through her blood.

“Gunners,” she whispered. “Shit!”

Her heartbeat seemed to have stalled in her chest; she rallied anyway, and put on her most commanding voice.

“Preston, sound the emergency siren!” she ordered. “Tell Codsworth to take Shaun and Dogmeat to the root cellar behind Mr. Sullivan's house, then help any traders and visitors get to safety. Guards to defensive positions; everyone else to the root cellar. Remember the drill! Don't let anyone in or out of that cellar until you hear the all-clear signal!”

Preston was halfway to the door, laser musket at the ready, when he turned to look back at them.

“What about you, General?”

“Danse and I will deal with those sons of bitches! Go!”

“Ma'am!”

He ran out of the barracks and flipped the switch on the emergency siren outside. A long, drawn-out wail sounded, rising to a crescendo and then falling again. It made every hair on Margot's body stand up on end; in an instant, she remembered running through a sunny street lined with glorious red maple trees and screaming neighbors, panic tightening her chest as she tried to keep pace with her husband and prayed to every god in human history that they would make it.

_That Vertibird overhead, the sirens... the Vault... Nate holding Shaun in his arms, telling me it was going to be okay, and he loved me... the explosion rolling over our heads. The heat, and dust, and fire..._

Danse grabbed her hand and pulled her to the door.

“Come on! Let's go, Paladin! On the double!”

Margot nodded breathlessly and followed him, reaching for _Nate's Revenge_ at her side and then remembering that she'd left the pistol on her nightstand.

“Shit – Danse, my gun! I have to get my gun!”

“You went out of the house without any _weapons_ , soldier?” Danse thundered. “Are you crazy?”

“My plans today included breakfast and a nice chat with my second-in-command! Not repelling a Gunner raiding party!” she shrieked back. “And you're one to talk, you're not even in your Power Armor! Where's _your_ primary weapon?”

“I – damn it, we don't have time for this! Just get your gun! I'll be there in a second!”

They ran up the street, to their respective houses. Margot's front door slammed back on its hinges as she burst in and ran for the bedroom. She snatched up her gun and a fusion core from their respective spots on the nightstand; at the same time, she heard Preston run into the house.

“Codsworth, Shaun! We've got company!” he warned them. “Grab Dogmeat and get to the root cellar! Follow me!”

“Mom!” Shaun yelled.

“It's all right, Shaun, go with Mr. Garvey!” Margot yelled back. “I'll be there soon, but first I need to help the others!”

“But Mom - ”

“Go!” she screamed, on her way out of the house. “Don't make me ground you for the next week, Shaun! Do as I say!”

She ran out to the carport through the back door, threw down her gun and climbed into her Power Armor. It slammed shut around her; she picked up _Nate's Revenge_ from the ground and charged out of the yard.

Danse caught her up easily, running alongside her in his X-01 suit as she headed back in the direction of the footbridge. His laser rifle was slung over his shoulder, and he was pulling on his helmet. She did the same.

“Where are they? I don't see anybody!” she shouted out. “Any visual on that Vertibird?”

“Negative! No hostiles, no gunfire! What the hell's going on?”

“I don't know, but nobody attacks my home! Let's show those Gunner bastards we mean business! _Ad victoriam!_ ”

“ _Ad victoriam!”_

They ran past a pair of panicking settlers and several of the market traders, who had already got the message and were heading in the opposite direction toward the homemade fallout shelter which one of Margot's former neighbors had constructed beneath his house. On the other side of the footbridge, a VB-02 Vertibird was preparing to land atop one of the hills which overlooked the road. Margot was about to charge across the bridge, with _Nate's Revenge_ at the ready, when Danse stuck out his arm to stop her.

“Wait – that's not a Gunner Vertibird. That's one of ours,” he said. He pulled off his helmet to get a better look and squinted into the morning sun's glare. “That's... oh, no. It's _Excalibur_.”

“Maxson's Vertibird? What the hell is he doing here?” said Margot, incensed. She pulled off her helmet and attached it to the strap at her side. “He'd better not be here for you! Danse, get behind me!”

She stepped in front of him and raised her weapon again as the Vertibird settled into its final landing pattern and touched down gently on the ground. Two Brotherhood Paladins in Power Armor stepped out of the aircraft and leaped down onto the asphalt, ground shuddering beneath their feet. They took up positions on either side of the bridge and waited for their leader to join them.

A teenage Initiate was next to climb out of the Vertibird; he was holding the orange flag of the Brotherhood of Steel, already unfurling it to show the Brotherhood's distinctive emblem. He hurried to the bridge, waving the flag aloft. Margot had never seen a Brotherhood standard-bearer before, but the sight of the boy surprised her. She'd always expected the honor of bearing the Brotherhood's flag to be in the hands of some grizzled Knight, or a responsible-looking Scribe, rather than a nervous, skinny kid in his mid-teens.

_Well, we all have to start somewhere, I guess..._

An imposing figure in a jet-black Brotherhood officer's uniform and a long, heavy-looking brown leather coat stepped out of the Vertibird. He exchanged salutes with the pilot, then went to join the pair of bodyguards on the footbridge. He led them across and they followed respectfully, like children trailing after their teacher. As they approached the end of the bridge, Margot saw the leader's face; he was young, scarred, with a close-cropped military haircut, a heavy beard, and eyes the color and warmth of steel.

Danse immediately dropped to one knee, bowing his head as he saluted. Margot remained resolutely standing, but lowered her weapon and saluted stiffly, Brotherhood-style, as the faction's leader approached them.

“Elder Maxson,” said Danse, from the ground. His right arm was still across his chest, fist pressed against his heart. His head remained bowed. “You honor us with your presence. What brings you here, sir?”

Elder Maxson ignored him. Margot felt her hackles rise. He hadn't even _looked_ at him. The leader of the Brotherhood of Steel had declared Danse officially dead, but he seemed to be treating him that way too; as though he didn't exist, and never had.

“At least that _thing_ has the right idea,” said one of the Paladins disdainfully, to the other. “Pity about our sister. She should know better.”

“Show some respect before your Elder, Paladin,” ordered the second.

“I am a citizen of the United States of America,” retorted Margot, to the faceless figures in full Power Armor. “Americans don't grovel before anyone. Not kings, not lords; not even Elders. I'd rather die on my feet than be forced to my knees.”

“Disgusting insolence,” hissed the first Paladin. “You ought to be up on a charge!”

“Enough,” said Elder Maxson briskly, to the bodyguards behind him. “Paladin de Havilland already saluted me and that will suffice. Bowing to an Elder is _not_ required by the Codex. Don't confuse obedience with obeisance.”

He adjusted the sheepskin collar of his coat, and continued:

“In any event, I'm not here to be fawned over. I've come to speak to the leader of the Minutemen.”

Margot stepped out of her Power Armor suit and hopped down onto the ground. She spread her arms wide.

“Here I am. What do you want from me, Elder?”

“A treaty, General,” was Maxson's simple answer. “Between the Minutemen and the Brotherhood of Steel. A mutual pact of non-aggression which will allow us to operate peacefully in the Commonwealth, side by side, without interfering with each other's activities.”

“I was under the impression we already stayed out of each other's way,” said Margot, narrowing her eyes. “You want it in writing now?”

“It will lay the foundation for a future alliance between our factions,” said Maxson. “If all goes well, of course. With that in mind, I wish to extend an invitation to you and two representatives of the Minutemen to attend talks at the _Prydwen_.”

“Which two representatives?”

“I'll leave that to you, General. The meeting will take place two days from now. I look forward to seeing you in attendance. There is much we need to discuss.”

Margot took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

“I haven't accepted yet,” she said. "And I _won't._ Not until you acknowledge the fact that Danse has been saluting you on bended knee since you got here, and you haven't so much as nodded your head in his direction.”

Elder Maxson scowled.

“I don't have to acknowledge a _thing_ , de Havilland.”

“And I don't _have_ to attend your little pow-wow, Maxson,” she sneered in return. “Maybe I'll head over to The Slog for a spa day instead. Deirdre does the best mani-pedis in the Commonwealth.”

Maxson's lip curled in disgust.

“Very droll, General. But the future of the Commonwealth is at stake, and I doubt you'd jeopardize the peace and safety of this land, and its people, over a personal grudge.”

“Because we all know you don't take things personally, Maxson,” said Margot, with one hand on her hip and bitterness in her voice. “Or hold grudges.”

Maxson's scowl deepened.

“I take acts of treachery against my brothers and sisters _very_ personally, de Havilland, but as I've stated previously, that matter is no longer up for discussion. If you don't attend this meeting, I'll - ”

Margot folded her arms crossly.

“You'll what? You're not here to see one of your subordinates, Maxson. You're here to see me in my capacity as a leader of a neutral faction. Ordering me around on the _Prydwen_ when I'm in my uniform is one thing, but you don't get to tell me what to do on my own turf. The General of the Commonwealth Minutemen doesn't go anywhere if she doesn't want to.”

Maxson ground his teeth.

“You're very fortunate that I'm here on a diplomatic mission, _General_. Under any other circumstances, I'd have you on a charge for insubordination. The punishment for disobeying a direct order from your superiors is severe. That kind of infraction usually results in corporal punishment.”

Margot smirked.

“Punishment, huh? Well, I heard you had a thing for older women, Maxson, and they don't come much older than me. All right. The safe word for today is “marshmallow”. I promise I'll be gentle.”

Cold fury glistened behind the steel eyes.

“De Havilland...!”

She laughed pleasantly in the face of Maxson's death stare and the spluttering outrage of his bodyguards.

“All right, all right,” she said. “No need to get your panties in a twist, Elder. I'll be there, don't worry. I'll even bring some friends.”

“See that you do,” Maxson said, more coldly. “Very well. Two days, General. _Ad victoriam_.”

He swept his battlecoat around him and withdrew, with great dignity. The two Paladins sniffed haughtily and turned to join him, marching across the bridge without a backward glance at Margot or Danse. The standard-bearing Initiate hied away behind them, hurrying to keep up with his taller, stronger companions as they made their way back to the Vertibird.

“Well, if you were hoping to brown-nose your way back into the Brotherhood, Danse, I don't think it worked,” Margot remarked, as they watched _Excalibur_ take off and soar into the skies. “Apparently Maxson's still pretending you don't exist.”

Danse sighed, and got to his feet.

“Noted. Although I wasn't trying to be obsequious. Elder Maxson was correct when he stated that bowing before our Elder isn't an actual requirement of the Codex, but it's a traditional gesture and some of the older Paladins still like to see it used, especially the ones who first accompanied Maxson and Elder Lyons from the west.”

“I've never seen anyone do it before.”

“Not surprising. It's mostly reserved for formal ceremonies. Brothers and sisters who take the Oath of Fraternity traditionally bow before the Elder or his appointed representative when they make their pledge of allegiance to the Brotherhood. A brother or sister found guilty of wrongdoing and duly punished can also bow before the Elder to show sincere remorse for their actions; in so doing, they display their continuing devotion to the Brotherhood and their desire to serve. The Elder may then accept their apology and give them his blessing to return to active service. Before their official reunification with the East Coast chapter of the Brotherhood, the Outcasts all bowed before Maxson as an act of penitence. I do the same in the hope of my own atonement.”

Margot frowned.

“Atonement? Danse, you did nothing wrong. It's not a crime to exist, unless we're about to get into the Ghoul and Super Mutant argument again - I'd rather back away from that gaping abyss for now, if you don't mind. I just wish you'd stop beating yourself up about your origins. You can't help how you were made.”

Danse hung his head.

“It's not that. It's just - when the truth of my identity came to light, I acted improperly. Instead of facing the righteous justice of the Brotherhood of Steel, I ran, like a coward. My actions made a mockery of Elder Maxson and brought shame upon my fellow Paladins. I deeply regret the harm I caused my brothers and sisters, and the Brotherhood itself.”

“Don't be sorry, Danse,” Margot told him fiercely. _“Don't._ You served them with honor and without hesitation. When they cast you out, they threw away the best part of the Brotherhood. They're the ones who should apologize to you and beg you to come back.”

Danse went pink.

“I... thank you. That's kind of you to say.”

“I mean it,” Margot insisted. “If they don't even know what they've lost, then they didn't deserve to have you in the first place. Then again, if they want to hand their best guy over to the Minutemen, I'm not about to complain. I'll be more than happy to hang onto you.”

It suddenly occurred to Margot what she'd just said.

“I, uh... I mean we,” she hastened to correct herself. “ _We'll_ be happy to hang onto you. You'll always have a home here with us, Danse.”

He gave her a grateful look.

“Thank you. My memories of life as an orphan were difficult. All I ever wanted was to belong somewhere. I thought I belonged with the Brotherhood of Steel; that I'd found a home and family there. But now that I'm here, I'm starting to think that maybe this was what I was looking for all along. The Minutemen, Sanctuary Hills...”

 _And_ y _ou,_ he desperately wanted to say. _Even before I met you, Margot, I think I was looking for you. Whenever I look at you, I feel hope, and joy, and the strange feeling in my chest which makes me feel like I'm about to leap into the unknown. You bring me more solace than all the stars in the sky ever could._

“This,” he finished lamely, waving a hand in the general direction of Sanctuary Hills. “All of this. I want this to be my home. I want to stay here with you and Shaun, and the Minutemen. That is, if that's all right with you – ”

He was almost bowled over by the force of Margot's hug.

“Welcome home, Danse,” she murmured, with her arms around his neck. She was standing on tiptoes now that she was out of her Power Armor, but she didn't seem to mind the discrepancy in height.

Danse gulped. Her face was so close to his. All he could see was a pair of dark brown eyes with eyeliner as accurate and deadly as her aim, and soft, smiling red lips. She smelled like flowers, with a hint of Pre-War perfume. When she was this close to him, nothing else in the world existed.

Very tentatively, with the care of someone trying to defuse a fragmentation mine and hoping like hell that it wouldn't blow up in his face, he put his arms around her waist and pulled her a little closer to him. She didn't pull away, as he'd feared she might; instead, she smiled and leaned forward.

 _I can't believe this is really happening,_ he thought, as Margot's mouth drew closer to his and his heartbeat thudded in his ears. The future unrolled before him in an instant, laid out in all its splendor like a map of the rest of his life. Their lips were going to meet; a spark that would set the world ablaze, and make the moon so much more than a serene white orb in the sky. It would be the first kiss of many. They'd exchange sweet _I love yous_ , have picnics by the river, and watch the stars at night. They'd go to the movies again and feed each other popcorn. He'd hunt down a bottle of champagne for her, and make her breakfast in bed. One night, wrapped up warm and safe together in a pile of blankets, they'd make love for the first time. And the second, and the third, until the moon fled across the sky and they fell asleep in each other's arms. They'd grow closer with the passing of every year, watch Sanctuary Hills expand and prosper as their hair slowly turned gray, and adore each other hopelessly until the end of their days.

_My sister in Steel. The love of my life..._

“You know, General, if you and Captain Danse wanted some time alone, you could have just said so,” said a voice behind them. “So where's the big emergency?”

Danse felt his heart take a downward plunge at the sound of Preston's voice. Margot was already pulling away from him to look at her second-in-command, and stepping backward, breaking the connection between them. It had taken only a few words to turn an inevitable kiss into something that would never be.

 _Goddamn it, Garvey!_ he wanted to bellow at the man. _Now that moment in time is gone forever, and none of it will ever be real! Why couldn't you have given me just a few more minutes?_

“False alarm,” Margot said bluntly. She seemed similarly displeased by the interruption. “No Gunners. Just a friendly visit from our buddy Elder Maxson. He wants me to attend a diplomatic meeting on the _Prydwen_. Negotiations for some kind of treaty between the Minutemen and the Brotherhood of Steel.”

Preston looked intrigued.

“What kind of treaty?”

“A reciprocal non-aggression pact,” Margot answered. “We're hoping it could lead to a long-term alliance.”

Preston smiled.

“That's great news. Another win for the Minutemen, if it all works out. So what now?”

“I have two days to get to the _Prydwen_ and participate in talks,” said Margot. “Maxson asked me to bring two representatives of the Minutemen with me. I've already decided who I want to take. Preston, you're coming with me, of course.”

“Thank you, ma'am. I'm honored. I assume you want to bring Major Shaw too?”

Margot shook her head.

“No. I'm bringing Captain Danse.”

Both men turned to stare at her in disbelief.

“General, I'm... not sure that's a good idea,” said Preston, very cautiously. “Captain Danse was banished from the Brotherhood of Steel. Bringing him on board their flagship could engender a lot of hostility and possibly result in violence. Please don't tell me you'd risk a full-scale diplomatic incident just to prove a point?”

 _Of course she would,_ Danse wanted to sigh, as she and Preston began to bicker. _Margot is a full-scale diplomatic incident. She's one hell of a soldier, but she'd stab a Deathclaw in the eye with a toothpick if she thought it had insulted someone she cared about. I dread to contemplate what she might do to our brothers and sisters if they called me a filthy synth traitor to her face... I keep having horrible visions of the Prydwen going down in flames._

“I am taking Danse to the _Prydwen_ , and that's final!” Margot was yelling at Preston as he attempted to reason with her. “Don't even think about trying to talk me out of it, Preston! Maxson pretends not to care about what he did to Danse, but I'm going to _make_ him care! He can't ignore him when they're staring at each other across the negotiating table!”

“Margot, it's all right,” Danse said wearily, interrupting her tirade. “Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture, but you don't have to do this. Colonel Garvey's right - it would be better for everyone if I stayed at home. You can take Major Shaw instead, or one of the others. I'll stay here and help Codsworth take care of Shaun.”

Margot shook her head.

“Oh no, Danse. You're coming with me, and that's an order! If you're part of my negotiating team, then you have diplomatic immunity. Maxson will afford you every courtesy and protection while you're by my side, or I'll have his head mounted on my wall by the end of the day.”

“I assume this is non-negotiable,” said Preston flatly. “Even if Danse doesn't want to go?”

“One hundred percent non-negotiable,” Margot insisted. “He's coming with us! We're a team. We all go together, or we all stay away. And anyone who disrespects Danse when I'm around is going to have to answer to _me!_ ”

Preston relented at last.

“Fine,” he said. “Have it your way, General. But I think this course of action has the potential to go horribly wrong. I really hope you know what you're doing.”

He sighed.

“Now, if there's no credible threat to the settlers, we should probably sound the all-clear and let them come back out of that root cellar. It looked a little crowded down there when I left them, and they're probably scared as hell.”

Margot shook herself. She'd somehow managed to tune out the sound of the siren wailing, but the mournful ululation was continuing in the background.

“Yeah – of course. I'll sound the all-clear. Preston, Danse, you go and get the others out of there. Tell them everything's okay and it was just a false alarm, but that you're proud of how quickly they followed the drill.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Affirmative.”

Margot rushed over to the siren. Danse and Preston left her working away at the control panel, and marched to the blue-tiled house two doors up from Margot's. They navigated their way through the picket fence's open gate, which was swinging in the wind. Behind them, the sound of the siren changed, then ceased.

Preston coughed.

“So, uh... I'm sorry about just now, Danse. I didn't mean to interrupt your little moment back there with the General.”

The look Danse gave him in return could have made ice form in the craters of the Glowing Sea.

“I have no idea what you're talking about, sir,” he said frostily.

Preston attempted a smile.

“Aww, come on, Danse. Don't tell me that you don't - ”

Danse bent to open the heavy iron doors of the root cellar, set into the ground behind the house.

“Sir, I respectfully recommend that we end this discussion. We're on duty. I suggest we focus on the task at hand.”

“You know, Danse, that's the problem with you,” complained Preston. “You're always _on_. Isn't there room for anything else in your life besides duty?”

Danse grunted as he struggled to open the doors.

“With all due respect, sir, I would _really_ prefer not to talk about my personal life,” he said. “It's hardly an appropriate topic to discuss with my superior officer, and I'm sure you have more important matters to concern yourself with than - hey, what's wrong with the doors? Are they locked?”

“They may have latched them from the inside,” Preston advised. “Hold on.”

He rapped his knuckles on the doors.

“ _Identify yourself!”_ said a muffled voice on the other side.

“Hey, guys! It's me,” Preston called out. “You can come out now. The General's sounded the all-clear.”

Something on the other side of the doors clicked in response. Danse heaved the doors open, and was almost knocked over as Dogmeat launched himself out of the opening like a furry cruise missile, barking and circling the yard.

“What happened?” said a confused settler, rubbing her eyes. “Is it over?”

“It's all right, ma'am,” Preston told her, and extended his arm to help her up the ladder. “Just a false alarm. Friendly Vertibird, but we didn't want to take any chances. The General says to tell you all well done, and to keep practicing the emergency drill.”

The settler nodded and climbed gratefully out through the hatch. Marcy Long was next.

“So that was all for nothing?” she snapped, pushing her husband out of the way and scaling the ladder. “Do you know how long it'll take me to round up that damn Brahmin again to finish milking it? What a waste of time!”

“Marcy, it could have been real,” Jun protested feebly, from the cellar. “What if it had been and you'd ignored it? You could be dead. They were just trying to look out for us!”

Marcy snorted.

“Useless,” she said rudely. “You're all _useless._ Get out of my way, you stupid Brotherhood grunt!” she added, with a snarl, as Danse offered his hand to help her up through the doors. She pushed him aside and stormed off.

“I'm sorry about Marcy,” said Jun, already apologizing as he climbed up after her. “She's still trying to get over losing our boy - ”

“The only thing your wife needs to get over is _herself_ , Jun,” said the settler right behind him; a trader in a clean blue suit and fedora. “That bitch has a weapons-grade attitude problem. How you haven't smothered her in her sleep is beyond me.”

“Don't talk about my wife that way,” Jun said shortly. “I love Marcy!”

“Well, I guess somebody has to,” the trader muttered. “Come on, Jun, keep it moving. I have to get back to the shop!”

“Me too,” said the settlement's doctor, Nancy Hathaway. She was standing at the foot of the ladder, nervously smoothing down her white lab coat. “I was in the middle of a medical exam when we had to head down here. Come on, Mama Murphy, let's get back to the clinic so I can finish checking you out. I don't like the sound of that cough.”

“It's not serious, kid,” said Mama Murphy, coughing.

One by one, they climbed the ladder and clambered out into the sunlight; settlers in stained farm clothes, traders in sharp suits and hats, and a couple of caravan guards. They were followed by a gaunt, twitchy woman with cerise eyeshadow.

“My guns,” she said, looking around in three directions at once. “Won't let them take my guns! If they've helped themselves to the merchandise, I'll kill 'em! All of 'em! They won't even know what hit 'em when I break out that Mini Nuke!”

“It's okay, Cricket, they were friendlies,” Preston reassured the woman. “Nobody's been near the market. Your pack Brahmin's safe.”

“Spot!” she groaned. “Argh, I hate leaving her out in the open! Too many enemies. Gotta kill 'em! Test out some of that sweet, sweet merchandise! Quality control, bitches! I only sell the best! Haha!”

With a cackle of manic laughter, she dashed off down the street to the market. Danse watched her go with a bewildered expression on his face.

“What on earth is wrong with that woman?” he said.

“Jethead,” said Preston, shaking his head regretfully. “Shame, really. I knew Cricket before she fell in with that crowd. She's a talented gunsmith and the only weapons merchant with better product is KL-E-0 in Goodneighbor. Someone should really get the poor girl off that stuff. I think it makes her paranoid. Well, _more_ paranoid, anyway. Paranoid people with Gatling lasers... not a good combination.”

Danse had disapproved of everything about Cricket until the mention of Gatling lasers; he made a mental note to check in with her the next time she was in town.

“Mr. Garvey!” cried out a small, anxious voice from the cellar. “Where's my mom? Is she okay?”

“She's okay, buddy! Just sounding the all-clear. She's very proud of you for being brave,” Preston called down to him. “Come on out, it's safe!”

Shaun scampered up the ladder. He was about to grab hold of the last rung when his hand slipped and he fell backward. Danse threw himself forward and managed to grab Shaun, catching him by the forearm before Preston could even react.

“Shaun! I've got you!”

He hauled Shaun out through the opening of the root cellar and felt small arms fling themselves around his neck.

“Is Mom okay?”

“She's fine,” Danse told the boy, picking him up and placing him carefully on the ground. “Don't worry. Everything's all right up here. You're not hurt, are you?”

Shaun shook his head.

“No, I'm okay. What happened, Mr. Danse?”

Danse smiled a little.

“I'm afraid you missed the show. Elder Maxson was just here. He flew here in his Vertibird. He wants your mother to go and meet him on the _Prydwen_.”

Shaun looked delighted.

“Cool! Is he still here? I want to meet him!”

“I'm sorry, Shaun. He already left.”

Shaun's face fell.

“Aww. That's too bad. What's he like?”

“Terribly brave, young sir,” said Codsworth. He rose vertically from the cellar doorway in a graceful motion, and came to rest a foot above the ground in the back yard. “He once fought a Deathclaw, you know! While he was still in his teens, and with just a combat knife! He killed the Deathclaw, but he has a very prominent scar on his face as a result of that little incident. Quite the tale, eh?”

“Yes, it was,” said Danse, a little put out. He'd wanted to tell the story himself. “Elder Maxson is a very impressive man, Shaun. The whole Brotherhood of Steel looks up to him - his courage and idealism are an example to us all. And no matter what anyone says, he cares deeply for the people of the Commonwealth. He traveled all the way from the Citadel so he could free them from the Institute.”

“But Mom and the Minutemen beat them to it, right?” said Shaun eagerly. “Oh, man! I bet he was _really_ mad that they got to do all the fighting instead! He was probably looking forward to being brave and saving the day with that big Brotherhood of Steel robot. He's... he's not mad with my mom though, is he? Aunt Piper said he and Mom don't like each other very much. I hope they don't have to fight.”

“They won't fight,” Danse assured him. “Your mother and Elder Maxson don't always see eye to eye about the decisions which they have to make, and sometimes they get annoyed with each other, but ultimately they both understand that they're just trying to do the right thing. Sometimes they disagree on how to do that, but they both have the best interests of the Commonwealth at heart, and they both want to see everyone live in peace. All they need to do is work together and be friends, and they'll be able to make a big difference to people's lives.”

“Well said, Danse,” Preston said approvingly. “Spoken like a true diplomat. Perhaps the General's right and you are the man for the job after all.”

“What job?” said Shaun, eyes wide with curiosity. “Do you and Mom have to do some work for Elder Maxson? I thought you weren't allowed to visit your friends in the Brotherhood any more, Mr. Danse. Mom told me you couldn't. She looked really sad about it.”

“We're going to the _Prydwen_ with Colonel Garvey to talk to Elder Maxson about a peace treaty, so the Minutemen and the Brotherhood of Steel can be friends,” Danse told him. “But that's classified Minutemen information, soldier, so you can't tell anyone else until we're done talking about it. Understood?”

Shaun saluted.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Danse! You can count on me! I won't tell anybody!”

“Good man,” said Danse, patting the boy companionably on the shoulder. “All right. Why don't you and Codsworth go back to the house? Maybe they've got some cartoons on the television again.”

“No, there was some old show called _Upton Manor_ on when we left _._ It's pretty boring. Just a bunch of people in old-timey clothes talking about table manners and marrying each other,” Shaun grumbled. “I wish it was cartoons. I like _Captain Cosmos_ and _Grognak the Barbarian_ , and _The Unstoppables._ The rest of the TV's okay, I guess, but I don't really like the AntAgonizer any more. She keeps talking about the same stuff over and over. I'm starting to wish she'd just go away.”

“We're working on that, Shaun, don't worry,” said Danse. “Codsworth? Can you take Shaun and Dogmeat back to the house?”

“Certainly, sir!” said Codsworth enthusiastically. “Come on, Master Shaun. Time to go home. I think we've all had quite enough excitement for one day... you too, pup. Back to the old homestead!”

Dogmeat had settled down into the long grass, but he pricked up his ears and jumped to his feet at Codsworth's command, and followed the little synth and the robot butler back to Margot's house.

“That everyone?” said Danse, peering into the dimly-lit cellar.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Preston. “All right, looks like we're done. Let's close her up and get out of here.”

They returned to the Minutemen barracks. Margot was standing in the office, staring down at the ant head. Multifaceted eyes glittered evilly back at her in the gloom.

“You know what, I'm beginning to think I don't want to hang this thing up on the wall after all,” she said eventually. “It's starting to give me the creeps. And I don't think it's as fresh as it used to be.”

Preston picked up the ant head from the desk, rather gingerly, and held it at arm's length.

“Couldn't agree more, General. Whew... that's quite a smell. Mind if I take this thing out back before it starts stinking up the place?”

Danse's nose wrinkled at the stench of rotting insect flesh.

“Yes, the smell is rather... pervasive. Best to dispose of it. I can take care of that for you, sir.”

“Nah, I got it. Thanks.”

Preston rushed it out of the room, and the building; if the look on his face was anything to go by, he was trying hard not to retch.

“I think I may have ruined Preston's office for him forever,” said Margot. She was attempting to keep a straight face, but clearly having difficulty. “Poor guy. Hopefully some Abraxo and hot water will take care of the smell.”

“I'm sure he'll survive, soldier,” said Danse, in brisk, dismissive tones. “Unlike our brothers in Steel, who may _never_ recover from the shock of seeing you backtalk Elder Maxson. I thought Paladin Jones and Paladin Spencer were both going to have coronaries. And I hope you realize what a bad example you set to Initiate Crandall.”

“My heart bleeds,” said Margot tartly. “Maxson had it coming.”

Danse scowled.

“That's no reason to disrespect him in front of his men. He's still your commanding officer. He could have you flogged for insubordination.”

“Sounds like a party,” said Margot, with a sardonic little grin. “There are people in Goodneighbor who'd pay a stack of caps for that sort of treatment. Perhaps he should set up shop at the Hotel Rexford. _Elder Maxson's Dungeon of Discipline._ I can already see the neon signs.”

Danse looked speechless.

“I'm... not sure I get where you're going with this, soldier. Which reminds me, what was all that talk about marshmallows? Some kind of password? Like those synth recall codes you told me about?”

Margot cringed. Funny though it had been to see the look on Maxson's face, she was starting to question the wisdom of baiting the Brotherhood of Steel's supreme leader in front of Danse, who seemed to be as innocently clueless as Curie when it came to some of the more complex aspects of human relationships.

_Uh-oh. I forgot he was the only guy in the Brotherhood of Steel who didn't have a Pre-War lingerie catalog stashed underneath his bunk. Looks like I have some explaining to do._

“It – it was a joke, Danse,” she said uncomfortably, averting her gaze. “Worse than one of my usual. I'm not sure you'd appreciate it if I explained it to you.”

He was still looking at her in the hope of an explanation; she could feel herself going pink with shame.

“Uh... oh God. You actually want to know. All right. Let's just say that I made a rather indecent proposal to our Elder which implied certain, uh - _proclivities_ on his part, so I could embarrass him in front of his security detail for my own twisted amusement. The proclivity in question was getting a kick out of punishing people. Or being punished himself. Safe words are... well, I guess you _could_ call them a recall code. They stop play immediately if things start getting out of hand. Nobody gets any more punishment than they signed up for.”

Danse's expression changed rapidly.

“Oh,” he said awkwardly, and looked down at his feet. “We, uh... we don't do things like that in the Brotherhood of Steel, soldier. Knight-Captain Cade said the only things we needed to concern ourselves with were the importance of consensual relationships, avoiding disease transmission, and knowing where Squires come from. Not necessarily in that order.”

 _Okay, I was right the first time,_ thought Margot, as he started to blush. _He and Nate really don't have a lot in common. Nate looked like the most “Mom, America and apple pie” guy in the world, but he read the Hunger For Handcuffs trilogy from cover to cover. Danse, on the other hand... the guy's all Brahmin steak and Brotherhood, or whatever the Commonwealth's shorthand for wholesomeness is nowadays. If I came up to him with a gas mask, a feather duster and a pair of handcuffs and implied they were for anything other than the pile at the scavenging station, I think he'd run for the hills._

“Don't worry, Danse, I'm not actually going to tie up Elder Maxson on the forecastle deck and leave him there to think about what he's done,” she said, with an embarrassed little chuckle. “I was only kidding. Really.”

 _Yeah, that was more Nate's department,_ she added in the privacy of her head, as she saw Danse breathe out visibly. _I should never have let him read those books. I think they gave him ideas._

“Glad to hear it, soldier,” said Danse, relieved. “I think that would have amounted to a lot more than a diplomatic _faux pas_. They wouldn't have waited for you to get in your Power Armor before they threw you feet-first off the _Prydwen_. And speaking of being thrown off the _Prydwen_ , how do you propose to smuggle me on board? Every single member of the crew knows me by sight, and Maxson was quite clear about the welcome which awaited me if I ever came back. They'll shoot all three of us if I'm spotted anywhere near Boston Airport.”

Margot gave the problem some consideration.

“I think we'll have to resort to some sort of disguise to get you into Brotherhood airspace,” she said finally. “Once you're on board and sitting at the negotiating table, there's not much Maxson can do about it if he doesn't want to start a fully-fledged war, but first we have to get you there safely.”

“And how do you propose to do that? Are you some kind of expert in the art of disguise?”

“No,” said Margot, starting to grin. “But I know someone who is...”


	6. Diplomatic Immunity

The Vertibird soared through a bank of low-lying cloud. Sunlight poured in through the windows of the cockpit, gently warming the faces of its passengers.

“HQ, this is Lancer-Captain Gollightly, Vertibird designation B6-23 Sierra Echo, on final approach to the _Prydwen_ ,” the pilot announced. “Flight level one-point-three. Maintaining current vector. ETA three minutes. Requesting permission to dock.”

“ _This is Lancer-Captain Kells of the Prydwen_ ,” a familiar voice responded over the radio. _“Permission granted, Sierra Echo; you are cleared for docking. Please proceed to Vertibird Dock Two immediately.”_

“Acknowledged, sir. _Ad victoriam!_ ”

“ _Ad victoriam, Captain. Over and out.”_

Lancer-Captain Gollightly signed off, and glanced down at the instruments in the cockpit.

“Our little home away from home. Impressive sight, isn't she?” she remarked, with a brief look over her shoulder at Preston. Although her expression was unreadable behind her flight helmet, the pride in her voice was unmistakable.

“Yes, she is,” said Preston. He made no secret of his admiration; his eyes were wide with awe. “Very impressive.”

“This your first time in the air, sir?”

“Yes, ma'am. Funny, the Commonwealth looks so different from up here. Smaller. More peaceful. Oh wow, is that The Castle?”

Preston leaned over to look out of the window, pressing his face eagerly against the glass for a better view of the Minutemen's headquarters far below.

Danse was sitting on the other side of her. Margot couldn't see his expression, but she knew that behind the disguise, there was a child's wide-eyed wonderment, as well as a boyish grin he couldn't quite contain. The first time they'd taken a Vertibird to the _Prydwen_ , her sponsor had spoken with grave solemnity about the importance of the Brotherhood and their mission in the Commonwealth. At the time, she'd been looking down at the world through the sights of a Minigun, too busy scouting for hostiles to pay any attention to whether or not her squad leader was enjoying the ride. But on the trip back, she'd noticed a hint of a smile on his face as the Vertibird soared clear of its dock and embarked into the open sky. As they'd grown more comfortable in each other's company, Danse had felt less of a need to downplay his enthusiasm for flight - the last time he'd clambered into the back of a Brotherhood Vertibird, he'd done so with an exuberant grin and a comment about traveling in style.

“Enjoying yourself?” she whispered to him.

“Affirmative,” he whispered back. “I just hope this isn't going to be a one-way flight.”

Margot tried to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach and the sweat in the creases of her palms. She was beginning to wish she'd listened to Preston after all. This had been a bad idea; how long would it be before someone saw through Danse's disguise? It wasn't a very good one. Deacon had complained that she'd hampered his attempts to conceal Danse's identity at every turn:

“ _No facial reconstruction, no hair dye, no shaved head... you're not exactly giving me much to work with here, Charmer! It's like asking Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel and then telling the poor bastard he can only use blue!”_

“ _Danse has already been through enough loss of identity to last a whole lifetime. If he doesn't even recognize his reflection in the mirror, he could have some kind of breakdown. Don't you dare change his face!”_

“ _Not even the scars? We could do something about the scars, at least. They're pretty distinctive. Maybe make him look a little younger. Don't tell me you don't want a more youthful, handsome Danse to gaze adoringly at over the dinner table on your next date?”_

“ _I still can't believe you were hiding out at Starlight and spying on us, Deacon.”_

“ _Believe me, I was totally watching that terrible movie. The fact that I was dressed like one of the security guards and happened to be standing right by the bar while you and your favorite Paladin fed each other Gum Drops is completely irrelevant. Also, I resent that accusation. Uh, how dare you.”_

“ _I don't know how you made it so far in the world of espionage, Deacon. You're a dreadful liar. You know I know you're full of it.”_

“ _And I know that you know that I know... uh... you know. Stuff. What were we talking about again?”_

She'd laughed. It was hard not to, in the company of her fellow Railroad agent. Deacon was full of witticisms and one-liners... and bullshit, which he'd reminded her was part of the job description, although she'd playfully accused him of being overqualified in that department. His confidence and easy charm would have made him the perfect foil for Nate - if only they'd met, she thought, with an inward sigh, so that they could have been friends.

In the end, she and Deacon had done the best they could with the limited resources available. Danse was dressed in the standard Minutemen uniform and militia hat, and they'd added a pair of shades and a black skull-patterned bandana to cover as much of his face as possible. As she'd thrown down a Vertibird signal grenade outside the Red Rocket station, she'd reminded him not to talk in front of the pilot, or anyone else on the _Prydwen_ ; Danse's voice was as distinctive as his face, and he'd be found out in an instant by his former comrades if they heard him speak. They'd exchanged only the softest of whispers during the flight so far, leaning in so closely that her cheek had brushed against the side of his face. In any other circumstances – ones which didn't fill her insides with cold, churning apprehension – it might have been romantic.

Once upon a time, she might have laughed at the notion that Danse and the word “romantic” might ever have occupied the same space in her head. He'd always been so impassive; a face of immutable granite in a suit of steel. But he was turning out to be full of surprises, like that timidly-offered bunch of flowers, and the moment on the bridge which had swept them up and carried them away... at least until Preston had blundered into the picture and snapped them both out of that wonderful daydream.

Her hand closed around his. It seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Guilt stabbed her in the heart as he turned to look at her.

_Oh, Danse. I'm so sorry. What have I gotten you into? I promise, if we get out of this in one piece, I'll find some other opportunity to put my arms around you. Then we can fall right back into that moment in time and find out what was supposed to happen next._

The _Prydwen_ was filling the windshield ahead of them; forty thousand tons of armored rigid-frame airship, emblazoned with its name and the Brotherhood of Steel's emblem, floating serenely in the sky next to Boston Airport. Inside it was an entire military base's worth of Brotherhood personnel and equipment, ready to be deployed anywhere in the Commonwealth at a few seconds' notice. And Elder Maxson, watching and waiting for their arrival. She was starting to regret poking fun at him in front of his bodyguards. She'd been on _her_ turf, comfortable in her impertinence; now she was on his, ostensibly as a guest of honor, but with her every move under scrutiny. One false step and it would all be over. She'd asked Codsworth to look after Shaun, just in case she didn't come home.

She saw Danse swallow, hard, as the Vertibird zeroed in on the empty dock. His grip on her hand tightened until she winced.

“It's going to be okay,” she whispered. “Everything's going to be fine. You'll see.”

“Promise?” he whispered back.

“My word is my bond, and my bond is Steel.”

From what little Margot could see of his face, she thought he was trying to smile.

“I know it is. I just hope you're right.”

“Of course I am,” she said, flashing a confident grin and hoping that she sounded much bolder than she felt. “All right, here it comes. Brace yourself.”

“Docking procedure initiated,” called out Lancer-Captain Gollightly. “Boarding in five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One. _Brace._ ”

There was a bump which almost knocked them out of their seats, and a shudder as the Vertibird connected with the docking arm; the rotors screamed to a halt, and then the aircraft was hoisted level with the flight deck, lifting the catwalk into view.

“Docking procedure complete,” Lancer-Captain Gollightly told them. “All right, citizens. We've arrived. Port-side doors to manual. Prepare to disembark.”

Margot looked out of the window. A pair of Brotherhood Knights in full Power Armor were waiting patiently on the catwalk; beside them, holding the faction's flag, was Initiate Crandall.

“There's the welcoming committee,” she said quietly. “Well, here goes...”

Danse opened the Vertibird door and let her step out first. When she dropped down onto the catwalk, he followed after her and took up his position on her left-hand side. Preston climbed out of the aircraft after him and stood on Margot's right, stopping only to readjust his hat.

“Welcome to the _Prydwen_ , General,” said one of the Knights. He saluted. “I trust you had a good flight, ma'am?”

“We did,” Margot said, smiling despite the butterflies in her stomach. “A very smooth flight. Lancer-Captain Gollightly is an exemplary pilot.”

The Knight nodded.

“Thank you, ma'am. I'll be sure to pass on the compliment to Lancer-Captain Kells. Please allow us to escort you to your quarters so that you can get settled. We'll notify Elder Maxson of your arrival at once.”

“This way, ma'am,” said the second Knight, gesturing to the stairs across the flight deck.

As a Brotherhood Paladin, Margot knew the way to her quarters on the _Prydwen_ as well as she knew the floor plan of her house in Sanctuary Hills, but she humored her hosts and pretended that she didn't, allowing them to lead the Minutemen delegation across the catwalk and up the stairs to the main entrance.

“VIPs on deck!” announced Initiate Crandall, in a quavering voice.

The two Knights guarding the door immediately saluted.

“Welcome, General de Havilland. It's an honor to have you on board,” said one, as the other opened the door and gestured for them to go in.

Margot gave them her most dazzling celebrity smile.

“Thank you,” she said. “It's a pleasure to be here. The _Prydwen_ is the most beautiful ship in the Commonwealth.”

“She's the pride of the Brotherhood of Steel, ma'am,” said the soldier holding the door open. Behind the helmet and armor, Margot got the impression that the man's chest was inflating with pride. “Hope you enjoy your stay.”

Margot stepped over the threshold, with Danse and Preston behind her, following Initiate Crandall and the Knights inside the airship. The interior hallway was illuminated with dim red lights; the stairwell below led down to the command deck, where she could see the _Prydwen_ 's captain, Lancer-Captain Kells, and the flight crew presiding over a brightly-lit bank of controls. They were too busy taking readings and making adjustments to notice the new arrivals above them. On the other side of the catwalk, just visible through the rungs of a ladder, was the observation deck where the Elder spent most of his time.

She could see Elder Maxson standing in front of the windows, gazing out at Boston's dilapidated skyline and the shadows it cast across the city in the golden light of late afternoon. One of the Knights had broken away from the party and gone to speak to him quietly, with Initiate Crandall in tow; she saw Maxson give them a cool nod of acknowledgment, and then a salute which was returned in kind. She had to quell the rising, bubbling tide of resentment in her chest at the sight of the Brotherhood leader turning back toward the window.

_There he is, turning his back again, just like he always does. He knew that the Brotherhood of Steel was Danse's whole world, and he abandoned him anyway. They all did, except Scribe Haylen, who thought she had to beg me to spare Danse's life. That's the problem with steel. It's cold and hard, and sometimes it would rather break than bend. But I'll find a way to make Maxson change his mind. I don't care what it takes. Danse deserved so much better than this._

She felt a hand at her elbow. An armored one; gentle, but insistent.

“This way, please, ma'am. I've notified Elder Maxson of your arrival and he requested that you meet him at nineteen-hundred hours for a preliminary discussion. Until then, please allow us to take you to your quarters so that you can make yourself comfortable in the meantime. Do you require refreshments?”

Margot shook her head. The food in the mess hall was nutritious and miraculously radiation-free, but notoriously tasteless. Danse had always warned her not to investigate it too closely before she started eating it, in case she lost her appetite.

“Thank you, Knight,” she replied. “We ate before we arrived. But we appreciate your hospitality nonetheless.”

“You're welcome, ma'am. Don't hesitate to let us know if you change your mind. Now if you could accompany us this way; your quarters are upstairs on the main deck.”

 _For heaven's sake, man,_ she thought, with a twinge of irritation. _I know perfectly damn well where my quarters are. I could find them in my sleep and you know it. I know you're following protocol, and I'm trying to, but is there really any need for all this rigmarole? I'm starting to feel ridiculous, playing along like this. Like it's all some sort of game._

“Of course,” she said sweetly. “Lead the way.”

The Knight did just that, leading the party around the catwalk and climbing up the ladder. His Power Armor clanked noisily with each step. Initiate Crandall hurried after him, with the flag slung over his shoulder. The other Knight paused respectfully behind Margot, Preston and Danse, inviting them to go up before him.

“General. Colonel Garvey. And Captain, uh... what was your name again?”

She saw Danse stiffen, and felt her heart freeze in her chest.

_Oh no. Danse, remember what I told you. Don't say a word!_

“Captain Daniels,” supplied Preston straight away. “He's new to the Minutemen. Knowing how to behave at diplomatic functions is an important part of our officers' training, so we thought we'd bring him along and show him the ropes.”

Margot tried not to look too grateful as she breathed out.

_Thank God for Preston. When I screw up, he's always right there to step in and save the day. I couldn't ask for a better second-in-command._

Danse nodded quickly.

“What's the matter with him, Colonel?” said the Knight. “Can't he speak for himself?”

“No, it's not that. Sorry, Daniels doesn't mean to cause any offense. He just gets airsick pretty easily,” said Preston effortlessly. “It's probably better if you don't ask him to open his mouth. He's trying hard to keep it together as it is. I'm sure you understand.”

Margot almost applauded.

_Oh, Preston - well played. I hadn't thought of that!_

“Absolutely, sir,” said the Knight hastily. “My apologies. It took me some time to get used to being in the air when I was first posted to the _Prydwen_. Please let us know if we can get him anything to help with the nausea. Our Scribes keep some motion-sickness medication on board to help new recruits acclimate, and we'd be glad to offer him some if needed.”

“That's appreciated. Thank you.”

“All right, Preston, we don't have all day. Come on up,” Margot said, with one hand on the ladder. She beckoned for him to follow her, and started to climb.

“Yes, ma'am,” Preston called up, below her. “Follow me, Captain.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she heard Danse grunt.

_Atta boy, Danse. Just keep that up and we'll be fine._

The Prydwen's main deck rose into view as Margot ascended the ladder. She saw the long corridor which stretched down the length of the ship; bright industrial lights, metal columns, girders and pipes, and the network of stairs and catwalks which extended around it. She stepped out of the stairwell and followed the first Knight as he turned left. The quarters were located directly behind the stairwell; the door straight ahead was Elder Maxson's personal quarters. She'd peeked through the open door one day as she was passing, expecting to see plush furnishings, only to be surprised when the room turned out to be as plain and austere as the man himself. There was another door off to one side - Lancer-Captain Kells' quarters. The door on the opposite side led to the quarters which had once belonged to Paladin Danse, and now belonged to her.

“Your quarters, ma'am. I understand you already have the key.”

Margot produced it with a flourish.

“Right here. Thank you, Knight. What arrangements have been made for my men?”

“We'll have some spare bunks brought to your quarters, ma'am. I'll ensure they're made up by the time you and Elder Maxson have concluded talks for the evening.”

Preston cleared his throat.

“With respect, sir, I don't think it's appropriate for me or Captain Daniels to share quarters with the General. I think it would be best if we made alternative sleeping arrangements for the sake of propriety. A lady needs her privacy, after all.”

Danse nodded his head in agreement.

“Oh,” said the Knight. He appeared to have been caught off-guard by the change in plan, and sounded suddenly unsure of himself. “Well, um – in that case, I could ask Lancer-Captain Kells if he'd be willing to share his quarters with you, Colonel. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, under the circumstances.”

“No, that's all right,” said Preston. “If you have a dormitory with a spare bunk, I'll take that. Captain Daniels will too.”

Margot immediately shook her head. The thought of Danse fast asleep and vulnerable in one of the bunks, surrounded on all sides by the very Brotherhood Knights and Scribes who were ordered to shoot on sight if they saw him, was enough to chill her blood. If he were to mumble one wrong word in his sleep...

“I would prefer Captain Daniels to room with me, if you don't mind,” she interjected, before the Knight could agree to Preston's suggestion. “I respect Colonel Garvey's regard for my privacy, and I won't force him into any sleeping arrangements he isn't comfortable with, but as a visiting dignitary in another faction's headquarters, I think it would be wise to keep another member of my team close to me at all times. Just in case anyone decides not to take kindly to my presence here.”

“Ma'am, I hope you don't feel in any way unsafe on the _Prydwen,_ ” said the Knight, with a tilt to his head which implied that he'd been hurt by the comment. “I assure you that none of my brothers and sisters will give you any trouble while you're here, but if you have any concerns for your personal safety, I'll be happy to arrange for an armed guard to stand outside your quarters.”

“Not necessary, but thank you anyway,” said Margot, holding up her hand. “While I don't anticipate any problems, I'd feel more comfortable knowing that one of my retinue is close at hand if I need anything. Besides, Captain Daniels sleepwalks. I'm sure the last thing you want is him wandering around the decks unaccompanied and falling off the _Prydwen_ in the middle of the night.”

Initiate Crandall went pale, and both the Knights shuddered.

“No, ma'am, we certainly don't want that,” said the first Knight, with the utmost sincerity. “Very well. We'll have a cot made up for Captain Daniels in your quarters. Knight Alonzo, please find a spare bunk in the dormitory so Colonel Garvey can bed down later.”

The second Knight saluted.

“Right away. Colonel Garvey, please follow me, sir. Our dormitory area is this way.”

Preston excused himself and broke away from the group to follow Knight Alonzo along one of the catwalks.

“I'll leave you to settle in, General. My name is Knight Caldwell. If you need anything, I'll be in the mess hall just down the way.”

“Thank you, Knight Caldwell.”

Knight Caldwell saluted, and walked away down the corridor. Initiate Crandall hurried after him. Margot and Danse were careful to watch them go, only breathing out when they were sure they were out of sight and earshot.

“All right,” said Margot. “So far, so good. Let's take a break for a few minutes. Nobody's going to disturb us in here...”

She unlocked the door and ushered Danse into the room, then followed him in and locked the door behind her. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, waiting for her heart to stop throwing itself against her ribs.

Danse uncovered his face and exhaled heavily. He looked around at his old quarters. Margot hadn't changed much, he thought; the room was still as spartan as it had always been. The only decoration was the Brotherhood of Steel flag on display near the door, and the only addition to the decor was a grimy blue plastic dog bowl with a few tins of food beside it.

“Yeah, I keep those around in case I ever need to bring Dogmeat with me on a mission,” she said, following his gaze. “Figured I should have some emergency rations for the little guy.”

Danse wandered around the room, almost in a daze. It really hadn't changed much at all. There was the medical kit, hanging by the door. A yellow crate, and a metal floor cabinet covered in ammunition cans and field rations. The safe where he'd kept valuable items, and the lockers where he'd carefully stowed spare uniforms and combat gear. In the center of the room, a metal-framed bed, and the metal crate he'd used as a footlocker. On the far side of the room was his _actual_ footlocker, next to some boxes of files and old paperwork. The desk was exactly the same way he'd left it, right down to the empty coffee cup and liquor bottles, and the carton of cigarettes and dirty ashtray he'd brought back from a sweep-and-retrieve mission with the intention of trading them to Knight-Sergeant Wesley for an alarm clock which actually worked. Next to that was the file cabinet he'd used for storing reports and technical documents, and next to _that_ , his old workbench. That was a little messier than he'd left it. Tools were strewn everywhere, and the bottle of Nuka-Cola he'd left there was now empty. A military-issue duffle bag sat open next to it, spilling random junk items onto the floor.

“You finished tearing our quarters apart?” said Margot, with a wry smile.

“Your quarters,” he corrected her.

“ _Our_ quarters,” she corrected him in return. “Maxson may have gifted them to me, but as far as I'm concerned, they're still yours. Like your Power Armor. It doesn't feel right, using these things. They're supposed to belong to you.”

Danse was about to argue, but he saw the look on Margot's face and decided that there were some battles he just wasn't willing to fight.

“Well, it's good to see you're looking after the place,” he said instead. “Although you could have tidied up a little. Especially the workbench. Look at the state of it; that's just sloppy. I thought I'd taught you better than that, Paladin.”

“Yes, Mom,” said Margot, with a roll of her eyes. “I promise I'll clean my room and do my chores so I can watch _Captain Cosmos_ later. Just tell me I don't have to go to school tomorrow. I never studied for that math test.”

She laughed when she saw his expression.

“Oh, Danse. You were always such a mother hen. Remember the time we went up Trinity Tower and you kept fussing every time I got near the edge?”

“Of course I did. The next gust of wind could have blown you right off the building. And I _still_ say you should have left that damn Super Mutant in its cage,” said Danse, with a small, critical frown. “What on earth were you thinking, letting that thing out?”

“I'll admit I wasn't convinced at first, but Rex wouldn't leave without him,” said Margot. “Hey, we were a team. A very weird team, but still - a team. And it turned out all right. Strong does a good job protecting the settlers in Hangman's Alley from the other Super Mutants in the area.”

“Why you set up a settlement in that part of Boston is beyond me,” said Danse. His frown grew deeper. “It doesn't seem like a viable location for a homestead. There's very little room to grow crops and it gets attacked _constantly_. If it's not Raiders and Gunners, it's the damn mutants.”

Margot grinned wickedly.

“It's all about the location, Danse! Two hundred years ago, the realtors would have called it a quaint, bijou nook in the fast-paced downtown area, with convenient access to nearby amenities. In other words, an overpriced urban shithole that's falling to bits, but it saves on the daily commute. Nowadays I'd describe it as _strategically important_.”

“Nowadays I'd describe it as _completely nuts_ ,” said Danse, shaking his head in disbelief. “But when it comes to managing settlements, you seem to have things in hand. If nothing else, that alley could eventually turn out to be a useful bolthole. And once it starts expanding, the settlers may be able to recolonize downtown and start taking it back. I hate to see innocent people cowering in ruins when all the useful buildings are occupied by Raiders, Ferals and mutant scum.”

“Well look at you, Danse. A real man of the people.”

His expression faded from his face.

“Real. I wish that were true. Then I wouldn't have to sneak around with a bandana across my face like some sort of outlaw. I'd still be here, serving with my brothers and sisters, the way I was supposed to. Damn the Institute, and damn their synths!”

Margot looked troubled by the sudden turn in the conversation.

“Danse - ”

“It's all their fault this happened, Margot!” he said indignantly. “All I ever wanted was to spend my life serving the Brotherhood of Steel! I was supposed to be promoted to Star Paladin if we succeeded in taking down the Institute; I was hoping to make it to Sentinel in the next five years. Lancer-Captain Kells was even trying to encourage me to get married. He said I needed to set a good example for the next generation of Brotherhood officers... find a wife, produce a few Squires to help bolster our ranks. That sort of thing.”

Margot made a disgusted noise and turned away.

“Sounds like a lucky escape to me,” she said sourly. “I hope the Brotherhood doesn't expect me to do that. Look what happened the last time I tried it. I married the finest man the old world had to offer, and what did we bring into the world together? A soulless bastard who kidnapped innocent people and replaced them with copies, refused to help the survivors on the surface rebuild after the war, and died cursing his own mother. I'm probably doing the Brotherhood a favor by not adding to its numbers. The world doesn't need any more monsters in it.”

Danse grabbed her elbow and turned her around to look at him.

“Margot, what happened to Shaun was _not_ your fault,” he told her, even as she struggled and tried to look away. “The Institute made him a monster, not you. If he hadn't been taken away from you, he would have turned out just like his father and mother - brave, selfless and kind. The best humanity had to offer.”

“If I'm the best humanity had to offer, no wonder the whole world's fucked,” Margot said bitterly.

Danse scowled.

“You don't believe that, and neither do I. It's not true. You're a good person, and a good mother.”

Margot shook her head, dark curls swaying from side to side with the intensity of her denial.

“I'm not, Danse. I'm _not._ I'm stupid, arrogant and careless. I wasn't strong enough to save my children.”

Danse looked confused.

“Children? What are you talking about? I thought Shaun was your only child.”

Margot shook her head again.

“No. When I left the Vault, I was... Nate and I were...”

She struggled momentarily for words, and then her face crumpled.

Danse drew his breath inward. Seeing her cry felt like a blow to the solar plexus; those beautiful dark eyes were supposed to dance with wicked laughter, not swim in the kind of tears you could drown in. He stood there as she wept, helpless in the face of her grief.

“Oh God,” he said quietly. “Margot, I'm so sorry.”

“I lost the baby a few days after ArcJet,” she confessed. Mascara-tinted tears were pouring blackly down her cheeks. “I don't know if it was exposure to radiation, or the stress of trying to survive out there, or – I don't know. I was only a few weeks along when I was frozen. Maybe the process caused some complications. Or perhaps it might have happened anyway. I don't know. But it was Nate's baby, and I won't ever have another. Not ever again.”

Danse stared at her, painfully lost for words.

“Nate didn't know we were having another child,” she continued tearfully. “I was going to tell him later that day – hell, I even _joked_ about the idea of being pregnant again – but the bombs fell first. While we were running, I kept telling myself that we'd get through this and I could tell him later when we were safe and settled in the Vault. But then they froze us, and when I woke up - I lost them all. My whole family. I couldn't protect any of them. Not Nate, not Shaun; not even that tiny little baby. They're all gone. I couldn't save them, Danse...”

She lowered her eyes to the floor, but Danse lifted her chin up with the tips of his fingers, bringing her eyes level with his.

“Margot, listen to me. _It wasn't your fault_ ,” he told her, placing both hands squarely on her shoulders. “You did everything you could to keep your family safe. And when they took Shaun, you did your best to rescue him from their clutches and bring him home again.”

“If I'd known then what I know now, I'm not sure if I would have gone out there to look for Shaun,” she said, almost spitting out the name. She looked away, with bitter tears glinting in her eyes. “He was an insult to Nate's memory. Just as much a monster as the man who stole him from us. I should have just stayed at home with Codsworth and let him look after me until the new baby arrived. Tried to do better with my second child.”

“And if you hadn't ventured out into the world, you would always have wondered what happened to your _first_ child,” Danse reminded her, drawing her attention back to him again. “You would have cursed yourself for giving up on him without a fight. Going out to look for your son was the right thing to do. If you hadn't, the Institute would still be terrorizing the Commonwealth and young Shaun would be locked up in their basement instead of playing in the sunshine with Dogmeat. The Minutemen wouldn't have survived the Raiders in Concord, and all those settlements you founded wouldn't exist. People would wait in vain for the Silver Shroud to clean up Goodneighbor and put a stop to the Mechanist. And Travis Miles would still be the world's worst radio DJ.”

Laughter spluttered out of Margot in a shower of tears and snot.

“Oh God, he was terrible! Like the student radio host from Hell. Poor Travis.”

“And just look what you did for him, and everyone else you've crossed paths with,” Danse said, trying to smile. “Piper, MacCready, Preston, Deacon, Cait... even Valentine and Curie. Hell, even me. Without you, we'd all still be broken and lost. I know it's been one hell of a journey and we've lost just about everything along the way, but I'm still glad we ran into each other, Margot. If there's one thing in my life I don't regret, it's meeting you.”

She looked up at him, eyes shimmering with fresh tears.

“I'm glad I met you too, Danse. Of _course_ I am. I'm sorry, I didn't mean - ”

Danse sighed heavily.

“I know. I'm sorry too. If I'd known at ArcJet that you were an expectant mother, I would have taken you safely home instead of marching you in there with me to fight those damn synths. I'm starting to worry that I might have been to blame for the loss of your child.”

“No!” said Margot urgently. “No, Danse, you weren't. You kept me safe in there. You watched my back and protected me every step of the way... and then I almost roasted you alive in return. Some help I was.”

“That was my fault for allowing myself to get bogged down,” said Danse, his voice weighed down with regret. “I should have retreated to a safe distance instead of letting them swarm me. That was a tactical error on my part. You did well under pressure, Margot. You always do.”

“I'm not so sure,” Margot admitted. “I brought you back here and put you in danger. Not exactly the smartest move I've ever made.”

“It doesn't matter,” Danse assured her. “Wherever you go, I'll stand ready at your side. Any mission, any time, anywhere. I'd follow you into Hell if you asked me to.”

Margot blinked back another rush of tears.

 _He would,_ she thought, looking up into his face. _He really would. He'd even offer to take point._

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely. “That means the world to me.”

Danse started to mop at her eyes and cheeks with one corner of his bandana.

“There,” he said finally. “We can't let Maxson see you've been crying. He might start thinking you're scared of him, and I know you're not. He's not even going to know what hit him when you get to the negotiating table.”

Margot felt herself start to smile as the cloth brushed against her face.

“You think so?”

“Absolutely,” he told her. “Young Shaun is going to be very proud of you.”

“I hope so. Let's just try to make it out of here alive first,” she said. She looked down at her Pip-Boy and scrolled through the menus until she found the clock display. “It's a quarter till seven, Danse. Do you want to sneak out and take a look around before we head down to see Maxson? Maybe we can catch up with Scribe Haylen if we see her.”

Danse nodded.

“Good idea, soldier. Let's get a feel for how things are on board. We may be able to overhear something we can use to our advantage.”

“Nate always said time spent in reconnaissance is never wasted,” Margot remarked.

“Words to live by,” Danse agreed, and turned toward the door.

“Wait! Disguise!” she said frantically, before he could reach for the door handle. “Danse isn't allowed to leave this room, remember? The only guy you can let out of here is our friend Captain Daniels.”

“Oh – of course. Thank you. I'm sorry, I'm not used to all this subterfuge.”

He donned the bandana, and then the sunglasses.

“Looking good,” she said, with a wink. “Unlike me. I look like garbage. Who the hell cares, we're probably about to die anyway. Well, here goes. In the immortal words of the Bedford Minutemen, _vince aut morire_...”

*

They passed through the mess hall, looking uneasily at the faces around them. Their brothers and sisters in Steel sat on the stools at the counter, and around the plastic-topped dining tables; some were trading quips and stories over a few beers, while others shoveled rations into their mouths and complained to their immediate neighbors about the quality of the food. A pair of Knights were playing chess at the table near the coffee machine; their swift moves and mutual accusations of cheating were being observed by another Knight and a curious Scribe-Initiate. The players looked up only briefly as Margot and Danse passed them by, then returned their attention to the bottlecap pieces on the chessboard.

“Do you see her anywhere?” Margot murmured.

Danse shook his head silently.

“Okay. Let's keep going. Maybe she's in the engineering bay.”

They walked through to the engineering bay; an open space with racks of tools and equipment in the center, and four yellow Power Armor stands lining the walls. The _Prydwen_ 's chief engineer, Proctor Ingram, was striding around in her modified Power Armor frame, clipboard in hand, inspecting the suits. A Knight wearing a pair of welding goggles was kneeling on the ground next to one of the suits of Power Armor, polishing the metal plates fastidiously.

“Good work, Knight. Keep it up,” Ingram told him. “With a little elbow grease, we'll have that armor looking as good as new.”

“Yes, ma'am,” replied the Knight, with a salute. “You'll be able to use this thing as the world's most over-engineered mirror in no time. _Guaranteed._ ”

Margot looked suspiciously over at him. That voice sounded familiar. A little _too_ familiar. And now that she looked a little closer at the man's face, she realized that those weren't welding goggles he was wearing.

_Sunglasses._

A mountain of pennies dropped, all at once. Her mouth opened in outrage. What the shit was _he_ doing here?

Danse leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“Is that who I think it is?”

“It's exactly who you think it is!” she whispered back, incensed. “That arrogant son of a bitch! He thinks he can just stroll in anywhere without being noticed!”

“Why is he here?”

Margot's eyes narrowed.

“I don't know, but if he's discovered, the whole ship will be on red alert and then they'll start looking for _other_ imposters in our midst. At which point you and I will be well and truly fu- oh, hey, Proctor Ingram,” she said, changing tack as the woman approached.

“Paladin de Havilland,” Proctor Ingram greeted her. She pushed some of the tousled flame-red hair from her eyes and wiped away a smear of oil from her cheek. “Wearing your General's hat today, huh? Well, it's good to see you. It's been a while. Who's your friend? He seems familiar...”

“New recruit,” said Margot straight away. “Captain Daniels, Commonwealth Minutemen. Excuse him if he doesn't speak, he's trying not to barf. Airsickness.”

“Not surprising,” Ingram replied. “Most wastelanders aren't used to life up in the air. Well, look after him. I'm sure Elder Maxson won't appreciate it if he throws up all over that treaty he wants you to sign. Aren't you supposed to be downstairs meeting with him, by the way?”

“We're on our way,” said Margot. “I was hoping to check in with Scribe Haylen first. Have you seen her?”

“Yeah, I saw her downstairs using the recreation terminal,” said Ingram casually. “Knight Rhys found a copy of _Zeta Invaders_ out in the wastes somewhere and she's been trying to beat his high score. Those two, I swear. I wish Rhys would just man up and ask her out already. He likes Haylen just fine, but he'll deny it to his dying day. God only knows why. When you put your Power Armor back on, de Havilland, do us all a favor and give the stubborn bastard a boot up the rear, okay? I'm sure Haylen would appreciate the intervention.”

“I'll certainly take that into consideration when I see him,” said Margot, with a short nod. “Hey, Captain Daniels, why don't you go find Scribe Haylen for me? Young woman in a red jersey and leather field armor. Blue eyes, and auburn hair if you can see it under her hat. She should be playing video games on a terminal down below.”

Careful to maintain the pretense that he had no idea who his former squadmate was, and that he'd needed the description of Haylen to find her, Danse saluted and hurried away to the catwalk, heading down the stairs which led to the lower level.

“Sorry to cut and run, but I should get going,” Ingram was excusing herself, as Margot turned back to look at her. “Got plenty to do before I can grab a plate of that swill they serve in the mess hall. Once I finish up my inspection, I have to take a look at Neriah's robot. She says the propulsion system's on the fritz again. Jeez, it never stops...”

She hurried away, leaving Margot alone in the Power Armor bay with the unidentified Knight, who was still busy polishing the steel suit with a dishrag and a can of armor grease. When Margot was sure that nobody was within hearing distance, she sidled over to him. He glanced up at her.

“Can I help you, ma'am?”

Margot sighed. She didn't have time for this.

“Deacon, what the hell are you doing here?” she said, trying to suppress the sound of her fury.

“I'm sorry, ma'am, I think you have me confused with someone else,” said the man innocently. “Knight Rockatansky. Registration RK-401K. May I be of assistance?”

She scowled.

“Cut the crap, Deacon. I know it's you. The Brotherhood of Steel doesn't permit non-regulation eyewear. _Particularly_ sunglasses.”

“Well how else am I supposed to hide the fact that I've got laser eyes?” Deacon complained. “Come on, cut me some slack! The rest of the uniform is perfect. Of course, I did have to take the Oath of Fraternity just to get my hands on it. Man, that Maxson guy is _intense_. I wasn't sure if I was going to get out of there in one piece.”

Margot choked.

“ _You took the Oath of Fraternity?_ ”

For once, Deacon looked embarrassed.

“Yeah, I, uh... may have accidentally joined the Brotherhood of Steel. A little. Talk about getting in too deep, huh? But hey, Dez wanted me here to keep an eye on things, so here I am.”

 _Desdemona_ , thought Margot, with a fleeting mental image of the woman. Her _other_ boss. The middle-aged woman with strawberry-blonde hair was the leader of the underground movement known as the Railroad. The organization helped ferry escaped Institute synths to safety, changing their faces, names and even their memories so that they couldn't be found. When the Minutemen had destroyed the Institute, dozens of synths had taken advantage of the chaos and fled; the Railroad was busier than ever before as it tried to help the runaway Gen-3s blend into society and start over again. Rumors that a bunch of renegade Institute scientists and Coursers were attempting to regroup and recover their missing synthetic slaves were rife, which had only served to make the runaway synths more paranoid, and more reluctant to seek out help. The Railroad's operatives seemed to have their work cut out for them nowadays... and now, as if they didn't already have enough on their plate, they'd sent their best guy into the heart of the Brotherhood of Steel's operations to spy on them. She wanted to throw up her hands in frustration. What were they thinking?

“What exactly is she trying to keep an eye on? Me?”

Deacon grinned a devilish grin.

“You specifically, no. The Minutemen delegation... that's another story. Let's just say that our glorious leader was _very_ interested to hear that Maxson's started cutting deals with you guys, and she wants to know about the possibility of getting in on the action. Although I think Dez is a little offended that she wasn't invited to the party in the first place. I told her that Maxson's little coffee morning wasn't the kind of shindig she'd want to attend, but she insisted that I ask around. And hey, if the boss lady says jump, then I say sure thing. Just not off the good ship _Prydwen_.”

“No kidding. Long way down.”

“Yeah, might scuff my boots when I land,” said Deacon dryly. “So, how is our buddy Daniels doing? Staying incognito as your little private joke on Maxson, or are you still waiting to make the big reveal so you can give King Arthur heart failure and take over this balloon full of bucketheads for yourself? If so, I call dibs on his Power Armor. Or yours, if things don't work out.”

Margot sighed.

“Deacon, don't get me wrong, buddy. I'm really grateful for your help. But you need to get off this ship as soon as possible. Preferably _before_ someone finds out you're not supposed to be here. Quit while you're ahead, okay?”

“Did I just hear my CO ordering me to go AWOL?” Deacon said, laughing. “Well, that's a first! Look, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Knight Rockatansky intends to GTFO and RTB as soon as he's done with his _totally coincidental_ stint of guard duty downstairs. The guy you really need to worry about here is our mutual friend Daniels. He's about as covert as a glowing Deathclaw... and about as welcome on board a Brotherhood blimp. Speaking of which, isn't it about time you guys went to see the head honcho?”

“Just about. Wish me luck.”

Deacon gave her a slightly clumsy version of the Brotherhood salute.

“ _Ad victoriam,_ sister. Knock 'em dead... diplomatically, I mean. Not literally. That wouldn't go down well. Definitely don't do that.”

“Will do. Make sure you get out of here safely, okay, Deacs? If everything goes to shit and you hear yelling and laser weapons, you get in that Power Armor, drop off the ship and run like hell. Promise?”

Deacon grinned.

“Don't need to tell me twice. When it comes to events I'd rather not attend, a Brotherhood laser light show's right up there with the Croup family reunion and Saugus Ironworks' annual company barbecue. I'll be sure to send my regrets on the way out. Well, good luck, boss. Sounds like you'll need it.”

“General,” said Scribe Haylen, ascending the steps. She was smiling slightly; behind her, Danse shifted nervously from foot to foot. “I think it's about time you and Captain Daniels got going. You don't want to keep Elder Maxson waiting. Allow me to accompany you both downstairs. I think they've set up the meeting table now, so everything should be ready.”

Haylen took Margot's arm and led her away through the clamor and racket of the mess hall. Danse followed closely behind them, looking over his shoulder the whole way.

“How are you doing, Haylen? How is everything here?” said Margot, leaning in to whisper so that they wouldn't be overheard.

“I'm fine,” Haylen said, dropping her voice to a soft murmur. “Everyone else... not so great. A lot of people are still very unhappy about what happened to Danse. Several of our brothers handed in their holotags in protest and walked out. As for Elder Maxson, he's been on the warpath about synths ever since Danse left us. He's already banned Fancy Lads Snack Cakes on board the _Prydwen_ , and now he's got half the Scribes out searching for Gen-3 synths to dissect and study, so we can work out how to detect them in our midst. Oh, and you know those tension headaches he gets? When he found out Danse used to get headaches too, he had Cade and Ingram put him through one of those old airport X-ray scanners to make sure he didn't have a synth component lodged in his skull.”

Margot raised an eyebrow.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. After the third pass, Ingram had to tell him to stop being so paranoid and get back to the ship. Of course they didn't find anything. No foreign objects. I heard Cade even spotted his heart in there somewhere.”

Margot stifled a treacherous laugh.

“And the others?” she said instead.

“Well, Rhys is still an asshole, nothing new there,” Haylen said, sighing. “Proctor Ingram and Senior Scribe Neriah are both rushed off their feet, same as always. Proctor Teagan's still drinking like he's got something to prove; he fell down the stairs again last night and broke his nose. So much for detox. And you know Proctor Quinlan. Busy collecting technical documents so he can find exciting new ways to kiss up to Maxson. He's taken over reading to the Squires at bedtime. By the way, they like that book you found about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.”

Margot beamed.

“Fresh from the Old Corner bookstore. I thought they'd enjoy it.”

“Oh, they love it. But they keep asking for Danse to come and read to them. The younger ones don't seem to understand that he's gone. Squire Woods keeps asking where he is.”

Margot's heart sank. The youngest members of the Brotherhood of Steel were born into the organization with the automatic rank of Squire. She'd been surprised to see children on board the _Prydwen_ on her first day; Danse had told her grimly that he'd never liked the idea of having them aboard a warship, but that they were expected to train under fire so that they could learn what life was like on the front lines. At first, she'd thought that her mentor considered their presence an unwelcome nuisance, but as she'd seen more of his interactions with them, she'd soon learned that nothing could have been further from the truth. Although they frequently got under everyone's feet, Danse had treated the Squires with all the affection of a doting parent; he'd carried them on his shoulders, listened patiently as they told him little stories and jokes, and rushed to help them up if they tripped and fell on the stairs. She'd even caught him collecting old toys from the ruins. Although he'd claimed that they were for the Research Scribes to study, she'd noticed that the number of toy cars, trucks and rocketships in the Squires' dormitory had multiplied steadily over time, and that little Squire Woods carried the teddy bear he'd brought her everywhere she went.

They passed Proctor Quinlan's office. Margot heard the man's calm and cultured tones coming from the room, accompanied by the excitable chatter of a dozen little Squires, and couldn't resist sticking her head around the corner to look. The bespectacled chief researcher was sitting at his desk with a book of poetry, reading aloud to the cross-legged children on the floor, while his pet cat, Emmett, looked down lazily from his vantage point beside the computer terminal.

“ _My good blade carves the casques of men; my tough lance thrusteth sure. My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure,_ ” Proctor Quinlan was reciting solemnly.

“ _Sir Galahad_ ,” Margot murmured in recognition, as Danse and Haylen stopped beside her. “Dad used to read Tennyson's poems to us when Peggy and I were growing up. _Ulysses_ was his favorite.”

She knew they were late, but Maxson could wait for a moment longer. She stood and listened to the sound of Proctor Quinlan's voice, letting the poetry wash over her like sweet music.

“ _How sweet are looks that ladies bend, on whom their favors fall! For them I battle to the end, to save from shame and thrall. But all my heart is drawn above; my knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine; I never felt the kiss of love, nor maiden's hand in mine.”_

“Sounds like Paladin Danse,” snickered one of the older Squires, a boy of eleven or twelve, to his immediate neighbor. “My dad always said he thought more about glory than girls.”

Proctor Quinlan looked up severely from his book.

“We don't talk about Danse, Squire Dudley. Elder Maxson's orders.”

“Why?” piped up one of the other Squires; a younger boy, perhaps seven or eight. “Did he do something bad? Is Elder Maxson mad with him?”

“Squire Ross, I thought I made it quite clear that we are not to discuss - ”

“I haven't seen him for a while,” said a smaller Squire thoughtfully. “Where is he, Proctor Quinlan? Did he have to go on a mission?”

“Squire O'Malley, that's enough!” ordered Quinlan. He was starting to look flustered. “Now we really ought to finish reading - ”

A very small Squire, clutching her teddy bear, burst into tears.

“I miss Paladin Danse!” she wailed. “When is he coming home?”

“Not this again,” sighed Quinlan, setting down the book. “Oh dear. Scribe Adonato?”

A dark-haired Scribe, barely out of her teens, came running past Margot; her dusty gray robes flapped around her like the dark wings of a crow.

“Yes, Proctor Quinlan?”

“Will you please take Squire Woods to her bunk? She's overtired and getting crotchety; I think she needs to go to bed early tonight. The others can stay up for a while longer.”

“Yes, sir.”

Scribe Adonato took the little Squire's hand with a big sister's tenderness and helped the crying girl to her feet.

“Come on, Squire,” she told her gently. “Time for you and Paladin Teddy to go to bed. Do you want a nice glass of Brahmin milk first?”

“No!” said Squire Woods crossly, sticking out her lower lip. “I don't want milk! I want Paladin Danse to read me a story!”

Adonato looked sad.

“Oh, sweetie. Paladin Danse is – he's not here any more. I'm sorry. I can read you a story if you want. How about _The Guardians of Gillyfrond_? You like that one, right? I know Paladin Teddy does. He told me that's his favorite. Isn't that right, Paladin Teddy?”

Squire Woods held up the teddy bear for her inspection; the worn-out stuffed animal's head drooped, as if in a nod.

“See?” said Adonato encouragingly, leading the little girl out of the room. “There you are. Let's get you both tucked in for the night and then I'll read you a story. You're the luckiest Squire on the _Prydwen_ , you know. You get a special bedtime story all of your very own! And everyone knows I do the voices better than Proctor Quinlan,” she added, in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Not as good as Paladin Danse,” Squire Woods said miserably, into the back of her teddy bear's head. She was starting to sniffle again. “When is he coming back?”

“He's not, Squire. I'm sorry. He and the Brotherhood of Steel aren't friends any more, so he... uh, he went away. Elder Maxson told Paladin de Havilland that she wasn't allowed to let him come back.”

Guilt wrapped itself around Margot's heart and squeezed tightly. If she'd obeyed that order, then Danse would be in the ground instead of standing here on the _Prydwen_ in disguise. Once upon a time, she'd admired Elder Maxson and would gladly have followed the impressive young military commander anywhere. But when Danse had fallen victim to his leader's black-and-white ideology and it had become clear that there was no room for any shade of gray in between, disobedience had been the only option. Her appeal for clemency had saved Danse's life – just – but Maxson had been unforgivably quick to remove all traces of Danse's name and deeds from the Codex; even now, he pretended that his most dedicated field officer had never existed, and expected the rest of the men and women under his command to do the same. It had been an easier order for some to follow than for others.

She saw the little girl turn around to glare at her as she and Scribe Adonato passed by.

“Why did you make Paladin Danse go away?” said Squire Woods. Her small, round face was set into a frown. “He was my friend!”

“I'm very sorry, Squire Woods. He was my friend too, and I didn't want him to go either,” said Margot gravely. “But Elder Maxson told me that he wasn't allowed to come back. I was very sad about it, but he gave me orders. And in the Brotherhood of Steel, we have to follow orders. When our Elder tells us to do something, then we do it right away.”

 _Most of the time_ , she added silently. _Danse wanted to be the example; I made him the exception. Maxson may be a gifted leader but he doesn't have all the answers, no matter what anyone else in the Brotherhood says. And there are some orders which aren't fit to be followed._

“Elder Maxson is _mean_ ,” said the little Squire sulkily. “I hate him.”

Scribe Adonato gasped.

“You can't say that, Squire Woods! Elder Maxson is a good man and he always does what's best for the Brotherhood of Steel. He cares about each and every one of us!”

“He didn't care about Paladin Danse,” Squire Woods retorted. “So I don't care about him! He's a big meany-pants.”

Margot had to fight hard to keep her face straight; behind her, Scribe Haylen suppressed a noise in the back of her throat which might have been laughter.

“No, he isn't!” said Adonato, with an expression of absolute horror. “Squire Woods, if you keep saying things like that, Elder Maxson will send you home to the Citadel! Being on the _Prydwen_ with your Elder is a great honor, and you must behave properly at all times. Your mother and father would be so ashamed if we had to send you home because you were naughty! Paladin Danse wouldn't have liked that, would he?”

Squire Woods' lower lip was trembling again, but she shook her head so fiercely that her uniform cap came loose, exposing the closely-cropped blonde hair beneath.

“No, ma'am,” she said, in a voice even smaller than she was.

“All right then. Time for bed. Come on, we'll get a glass of milk from the mess hall on the way. Sounds good, right?”

Squire Woods nodded unhappily and allowed the Scribe to lead her away.

“Poor kid,” said Haylen, looking away. “We try to teach the Squires not to get attached to the Knights and Paladins on active duty, in case they don't come home from a mission. But Squire Woods is only four. I don't think she understands. She _idolized_ Danse, especially after he brought her that teddy bear. She still asks for him every day.”

Margot looked over at Danse; he was standing completely still. Not a single muscle moved. She would have expected to see traces of overwhelming sadness on any other man's cheeks, but Danse never cried, even when the circumstances seemed to demand it. She'd seen momentary glimpses of every emotion he'd ever permitted himself to show – pride, contentment, anger, regret, shame, disgust – and even a few hints of the weaknesses he abhorred, like pain, fatigue and fear. But never, ever tears.

_I know Gen-3 synths are capable of producing tears, so it's not that. And Danse feels sorrow just like everyone else. That look on his face when I told him what happened to my baby... that really upset him. He won't cry, though. Maybe that's too much loss of self-control for someone with his level of discipline. Or maybe he's afraid that if he ever starts, he won't stop. I know how that goes._

They turned away, and were heading to the stairwell when they heard a loud wail.

“Oh no! Paladin Teddy! I dropped him!”

Margot looked over her shoulder and saw Scribe Woods' teddy bear lying on the floor a few feet away.

“Hold on, Squire Woods, I'll get him!” she called, and went to retrieve the stuffed animal, but Danse was already striding forward to pick it up. He grabbed the teddy, dusted it off carefully and went to hand the bear to its distraught owner.

Squire Woods looked up at him with huge, questioning blue eyes; at first she looked fearful, then her expression changed. Her mouth opened wide, and her eyes lit up like tiny stars.

“Paladin Danse!” she squealed, throwing herself forward and hugging him around one knee. “You came back!”

Margot almost screamed out loud.

_Oh no. Please tell me she didn't just recognize him! Danse, you – you idiot! Why didn't you keep your distance?_

“No, honey!” she said in panicked tones, rushing over to try to pry the little Squire's arms away from Danse. “That's not Paladin Danse! This is my friend Captain Daniels, from the Minutemen. He and I are here to see Elder Maxson, and we really have to get going. Can you let go of him, please?”

“Come on, Squire Woods, be a good girl and let go of the man,” Haylen ordered, from a few feet away. “That's no way to treat visitors!”

Squire Woods ignored their entreaties and clung on tighter, like a limpet.

“Paladin Danse, where were you?” she said curiously, looking up at him. “Proctor Teagan said you were playing hide and seek! But you've been gone for ages! Did you win?”

Danse was starting to panic; terror seemed to have locked him into place, and the few patches of skin visible under his bandana and sunglasses were shiny with nervous sweat. He gave Margot and Haylen a desperate look, silently imploring them to assist him.

“Squire Woods, let go of the poor man! He's got places to be!” scolded Adonato. “And don't call him Paladin Danse! Paladin Danse is – he's _dead_ , Squire! I'm sorry, I didn't want to break it to you this way, but he's dead!”

Squire Woods looked at her in puzzlement.

“No he isn't,” she said blankly. “Look! He's right here!”

“That's enough, Squire!” Margot barked, or tried to; her voice seemed too weak in her throat for her to issue a command at full volume. “Scribe Adonato, if you don't control that child and get her away from Daniels this instant, I'll make sure Elder Maxson hears about this!”

Scribe Adonato went white.

“I'm so sorry, Paladin de Havilland. Uh, I mean General! Squire Woods, let go _right now!_ ”

“Noooo!” squeaked Squire Woods, as Scribe Adonato tried to peel her away. She tugged at Danse's leg and managed to scramble up to waist-level, climbing up him like a hyperactive version of Jangles the Moon Monkey. “I want to stay with Paladin Danse!”

“What in the name of the Creator is going on out here?” exclaimed Proctor Quinlan, running out of his office to investigate; several inquisitive Squires were already peering around the corner. “Squire Woods! What on earth are you doing, hanging onto people you don't know? Don't you remember what Knight-Captain Cade and I taught you about stranger danger?”

“He's not a stranger, Proctor Quinlan! He's Paladin Danse!” Squire Woods said happily, climbing up a little further and hanging onto Danse's shoulders, her hands and knees digging into his side. “I told you he'd come back!”

Proctor Quinlan frowned.

“Don't be ridiculous, Squire. Scribe Adonato, why isn't she in bed?”

Adonato's complexion changed from petrified alabaster to beet-red.

“I – I'm terribly sorry, sir. I can't seem to get her to let go. For some reason she seems _convinced_ that this man is Danse.”

“Well of course he isn't!” Quinlan said irritably. “We all know perfectly well that Danse is deceased, and never to be mentioned again! Elder Maxson said so himself! Paladin de Havilland shot that abominable synth traitor in its face _several_ times and incinerated what little was left of it, in accordance with her duties to the Brotherhood of Steel. I assure you, that man cannot _possibly_ be Danse!”

“But he _is!_ ” whined Squire Woods.

“Enough!” said Quinlan, raising his voice. “Scribe Adonato, get that Squire off the poor fellow and put her to bed immediately! And the rest of you, you're dismissed! Go to your bunks and get ready for bed. Lights out in thirty minutes!”

“Yes, Proctor Quinlan!” the other Squires chorused, and scampered away, half-marching and half-running to the stairs near the catwalks.

Squire Woods was still hanging onto Danse for dear life. She resisted Adonato's continued attempts to remove her from his side and nestled her head in the space between Danse's jaw and neck, nuzzling up to him affectionately.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Margot pleaded, trying once more to detach the girl from Danse, with Adonato's assistance. “Be a good girl and let go of Captain Daniels, okay?”

Squire Woods shook her head.

“No! You're going to make him go away! I don't want him to go away! _You_ go away!”

“You do not speak that way to a superior officer, Squire!” said Proctor Quinlan, his face darkening with anger. “Let go at once! That's an order! Do not make me fetch your mother and father! If you don't comply immediately - ”

“General, you're late! I expected you downstairs at nineteen-hundred hours! Is this some sort of deliberate snub on your part?” Maxson demanded to know, clambering up the ladder. He adjusted one of the folds of his long leather battlecoat as he reached the main deck. “What's going on here?”

Margot tried not to groan.

_Oh God. He couldn't possibly have appeared at a worse time. We're dead. Double-dead. They'll throw Danse off the Prydwen first, then me. Maybe Preston will be smart enough to talk his way out of it and disavow any knowledge of our little plot, and they'll spare him; or maybe they'll just throw him off the ship too and complete the set. This is all my fault. Why did I think I could pull a Deacon and sneak an enemy of the Brotherhood of Steel right onto their flagship without them noticing?_

“I'm sorry for the delay, Elder Maxson,” said Margot, as respectfully as she could manage under the strain. Her heart was starting to skip every other beat. “As you can see, my assistant, Captain Daniels, has been, uh... unavoidably detained.”

Elder Maxson started to smile. It was the most warmth Margot had ever seen in his face.

“Ah, I see you've met our youngest Squire, Daniels,” he said. “Woods' parents, Knight-Sergeant Woods and Lancer-Initiate Woods, are both stationed here on the _Prydwen_. We're trying to instil her with more respect for her superiors, but that may take some time; I'm afraid she's very friendly and likes to hug. Squire Woods, please let go. You're bothering the General's friend.”

“No,” said Squire Woods flatly. “You'll send him away.”

“Why would I do that, Squire?” said Maxson, with a kinder note in his voice. “Captain Daniels is our guest, just like the General.”

“Because he's Paladin Danse,” she said straightforwardly.

Elder Maxson raised his eyebrows; Margot gave a short little laugh in response.

“What an imagination she has,” she said. “They're a riot at that age, aren't they?”

“They certainly are,” said Elder Maxson, with a soft chuckle. “All right, Squire, that's enough. Scribe Haylen, Scribe Adonato, would you mind taking her away? Greeting our honored guests like old friends is all very well, but we have work to do.”

“But it _is_ him!” protested Squire Woods. “Look!”

Before Margot could stop her, she grabbed Danse's sunglasses and tossed them away. Danse's eyes widened in alarm as she reached for his bandana; his hands flew to his face, but it was too late. She wrenched away the cloth and gave a cry of delight when she saw the familiar face underneath.

“See?” she said overjoyed. “I _knew_ it was you!”

Oblivious to the gasps and shocked faces all around her, Squire Woods flung her arms around Danse's shoulders and hugged him tightly.

“I missed you very much, Paladin Danse,” she said adoringly, and planted a tiny kiss on his cheek, just above the line of his beard. “Please don't ever go away again, okay?”

The look of cold, tense horror on Danse's face melted into resignation, and then a grudging smile. He drew the little girl into a close hug, wrapping her up in his arms and letting her snuggle into his shoulder.

“I missed you too, Squire Woods,” he told her quietly. “I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye. Are you okay, soldier? Squire Martin didn't try to take Paladin Teddy away from you again, did he?”

“He did, but I hit him,” she said proudly. “Squires don't steal from each other. That's what you said!”

“That's my girl,” said Danse, grinning. “You show him who's boss! One day you're going to be a big, tough soldier and you won't have to take that kind of nonsense from boys.”

“Yeah, I'll beat them up! _Ad victoriam!_ ” she proclaimed, giggling.

“ _Ad victoriam_ , little sister,” he said, and kissed her solemnly on the forehead. “You're going to be the best soldier in the whole Brotherhood of Steel, I know it. Big and strong and brave. Even Deathclaws and Super Mutants will be too scared to fight you! They'll run away when they see Sentinel Woods coming!”

Squire Woods looked up, laughing, but her expression changed when she saw the thunderous look on Elder Maxson's face, the frozen fear in Margot and Haylen's eyes, and Proctor Quinlan's aghast, slightly sickened look.

“What's happening?” she asked, her small voice breaking through the ringing silence. “Paladin Danse, are they mad with us?”

“I think so,” said Danse, his face falling. “I... uh... oh, no.”

Scribe Adonato's mouth was half-open with shock. She remembered herself a second later, and, trembling, started to scream.

“It's – it's Danse! _Intruder! Help!_ ”

Yells rose up from further in the ship, accompanied by the sound of running feet; in an instant, Margot and Danse found themselves surrounded by angry Knights pointing laser weapons in their direction.

“Danse! You son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing on the _Prydwen_? You're supposed to be dead!” one of the Knights was yelling.

“Treachery!” shouted another.

“Kill it!”

“No, wait, don't shoot! It has Squire Woods!”

“What? Oh God! Phoebe!” shrieked a young woman in a Vertibird pilot's jumpsuit, whom Danse and Margot both recognized as the little Squire's mother, Lancer-Initiate Woods. One of the Knights had to grab her by the waist to hold her back. “Phoebe! Let go of her, you _monster!_ If you hurt her, I swear I'll - !”

“Mommy?” said the little girl, looking confused. “What's going on?”

“It's going to be all right, princess!” Lancer-Initiate Woods cried out. “Don't panic! Just stay calm and stay where you are! We won't let it hurt you, okay, baby?”

“Put down the hostage immediately!” ordered a Knight, pointing the barrel of his laser rifle straight between Danse's eyes. “That's an order, synth!”

Margot saw the fear rising in Danse's eyes, but he didn't try to run. Instead, he held on a little tighter to Squire Woods, cuddling the little girl protectively as she started to cry.

“It's going to be okay, Squire,” he told her, in a soft murmur. Margot had never seen him look so pale and frightened, but he was doing his best to comfort the sobbing child in his arms. “Don't worry, little one. Everything's going to be all right.”

“Mommy!” Squire Woods whimpered. “Don't let them hurt Paladin Danse!”

“What's going on?” Margot heard Preston's voice calling out from further down the corridor. He came running to find out what was going on; he drew to a halt when he saw them, raising a hand to his mouth when he saw that Danse's face was uncovered, and then cringing where he stood as a forest of additional weapons rose up around him in turn.

“Oh shit,” he muttered. “I knew this was a bad idea, General...”

Elder Maxson was quivering with cold, suppressed rage.

“What is the meaning of this – this _outrage?_ De Havilland! Explain yourself! Why is this _thing_ on board my ship?”

“He's not a thing, Maxson. He's a person. Captain Danse is a proud member of the Minutemen and officially under my protection,” said Margot. Her voice was shaking, and so was she, but she took a deep breath and continued. “I appointed him to my delegation so that he could assist me during negotiations, which makes him part of my official diplomatic staff. Under the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations and the Diplomatic Relations Act of 1978, both of which predate the Great War and were never officially repealed, Captain Danse is entitled to diplomatic immunity and safe passage through Brotherhood of Steel territory, and cannot be arrested, detained or prosecuted by the Brotherhood for any perceived or actual crime.”

“This is an insult!” Maxson bellowed. “A blatant attempt to undermine my authority! Why did you bring that monstrosity on board my ship? So that it can threaten my crew and report back to the Institute Remnants whenever they decide to activate that implant in its head? Are you insane, de Havilland? What were you thinking?”

Margot was about to reply when she heard a loud clanking sound; a figure in Power Armor was pushing its way through the crowd, whistling nonchalantly. Through the helmet's mouthpiece, she could hear Deacon saying:

“Uh... 'scuse me folks... sorry, coming through... don't mind me... places to be, tech to recover, mutants to beat to death. You know how it is...”

He edged his way past them and hurried away down the ladder to the command deck. A moment later, she heard the door close, the sound of frantic running somewhere outside, and a muffled, descending _“Oh God, whyyyy?”_ , which was presumably Deacon throwing himself off the _Prydwen_ in his haste to make good his escape.

“Well?” snarled Maxson. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Margot took another deep breath. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides; her fingernails dug deep into her palms.

“Plenty,” she said. “I'm not making excuses for Danse. I shouldn't have to. He's a good man who did nothing wrong, and I should have been able to bring him aboard without having to cover his face so you people didn't murder him on sight. The way you repaid him for his years of service to the Brotherhood was reprehensible. He placed his faith in his brothers and sisters in Steel, and you betrayed him, each and every one of you. Especially you, Maxson.”

“ _I_ betrayed _Danse?_ How dare you! I - ”

“You should never have let him go,” Margot interrupted him. “He was the Brotherhood's best soldier and he would have continued to serve you gladly, if you'd allowed him to stay. All he wanted was to be with the only family he's ever known. But families aren't always what they're cracked up to be, are they? I should know. My firstborn son was a profound disappointment. His successor, on the other hand, has brought me nothing but joy since the day I brought him home. My little Shaun may be a synth, but he understands the meaning of family far better than my own flesh and blood ever did. How about you, Maxson? Do loyalty and love mean anything to you, or do you cast aside everyone who disappoints you in some way?”

“Danse is an Institute synth!” said Maxson furiously. “A _spy!_ Do you expect me to tolerate one of those things in my ranks, so that it can report back to its masters with all of the Brotherhood of Steel's strategies and secrets, and allow them to destroy us from the inside out? Because I won't allow it, de Havilland! I'm sworn to defend the Brotherhood and its interests from every threat, including that Institute abomination!”

Danse flinched.

“Danse hasn't been inside the Institute since the day they built him, Maxson,” said Margot, trying to stay calm. “I've seen their records. He never reported in to them, never made contact with them; he didn't even know that he had a synth component lodged in his head until those logs Proctor Quinlan supposedly uncovered. And to be honest, I have my suspicions about the veracity of those findings,” she added maliciously. “I'm not convinced that parts of his report weren't... _embellished_ a little.”

“Outrageous!” Quinlan declared. “I checked the data myself, multiple times! Danse is without a doubt an Institute synth! Designation M7-97!”

“And yet nobody in the Institute seemed to know a single thing about him,” said Margot loudly. “Isn't that interesting? If even they don't know when he was made, or why he was sent out into the world, then how on earth did they expect him to report to them? He didn't know he was a synth, so he wouldn't have known how to get in touch with the Institute even if he wanted to. Which, of course, he didn't. Danse loves the Brotherhood of Steel, despite everything, and he would gladly die to protect his brothers and sisters.”

“Then I will call upon it to do so!” Maxson growled. “This insult will not stand! By bringing Danse back to the _Prydwen_ after it was agreed that it would be banished and declared officially dead, you have committed a grave crime against the Brotherhood of Steel. There will be no negotiations, de Havilland. And no more claims of diplomatic immunity. As I'm sure you're aware, that status can be revoked by a declaration of _persona non grata_. Withdraw immediately, and I may yet consider sparing you and Colonel Garvey, even after your attempt to smuggle a known traitor on board my ship. That _thing_ stays here. It will be executed for high treason and espionage at dawn.”

Margot shook her head.

“I don't think so. He's one of my men now, not one of yours. Harm a single hair on his head and we're going to have an incredibly big problem.”

“And how do you intend to stop me from destroying that thing, de Havilland?” said Maxson shortly. “You and your Colonel are outnumbered and outgunned by a considerable margin. I doubt you could take us all on and win.”

“Oh, I don't have to,” said Margot, with a big smile. “Colonel Garvey? Could you tell me how many artillery units we now have stationed at The Castle?”

“Seven, ma'am,” Preston answered. “All in perfect working order. One additional unit to be installed by the end of the month.”

“Excellent,” she said, with a voice that dripped honey and menace. “And are they currently standing by, awaiting my orders?”

Preston saluted nervously.

“Standing ready, ma'am. At a minute's notice. Why?”

“Yes, that's an excellent question,” said Maxson. He was starting to glower at her again. “Why?”

“Because I have my Pip-Boy right here on my arm,” said Margot, giving the device on her left arm a friendly pat. She smirked, very slightly. “You may be interested to know that I had our tech guy, Sturges, fit it with an emergency transponder, just in case anything untoward were to happen to me during my visit here. All I have to do is activate the automated distress signal and alert my men to my predicament, and you get a free fireworks display.”

Maxson went rigid.

“You – you've got artillery trained on the _Prydwen_? No. Even you wouldn't be foolhardy enough to do something like that. I don't believe you, de Havilland. You wouldn't dare!”

“Try me, Maxson,” Margot challenged him. “I do plenty of things most people wouldn't dare to. I track down Pre-War gangsters in Boston's ruins, and go for little evening strolls in the Glowing Sea. I hunt Yao Guai, Gunners and Super Mutants for _fun_. I eat Raiders for breakfast - not literally, of course, although that would really send them running. And look what happened to the Institute when those bastards messed with my family. I blew up their headquarters and sent them scurrying for cover like rats. If you think I wouldn't risk everything in a heartbeat to save one of my boys, or that there's anything I won't do to send my enemies down in flames, then all I can say is _you don't know me very well._ ”

Maxson spread his hands wide.

“And are we your enemies, de Havilland? Your sworn brothers and sisters in Steel?”

“That depends,” she said warily. “Are you?”

The Elder's expression seemed to be two parts exasperation, one part quiet despair.

“We don't have to be,” he told her. “I certainly didn't want things to come to this. This was supposed to be an invitation to talk about a peace treaty, and now here we are, threatening each other and fighting over that _thing_. Turning on your Elder and your brothers and sisters because your sensibilities were swayed by a product of the Institute – this is madness, de Havilland, can't you see that? Tell me, are you really prepared to risk your own execution and potentially start a war over Danse?”

“I know I was the last time we talked about this,” Margot replied defiantly. “Nothing's changed on my end. How about you? What do _you_ want, Maxson? Do you want to de-escalate this situation and talk things through so we can reach an agreement like decent human beings, or are you so determined to see Danse dead that you'll go through me to get to him, start a war with the Minutemen, and watch the Commonwealth tear itself apart? I'm pretty sure you don't want that. And neither do I.”

She breathed out heavily.

“Astonishing though this revelation may seem, I didn't come here spoiling for a fight, or to antagonize you by parading Danse around the _Prydwen_ for the hell of it,” she said. “I brought him here on a mission of peace. He's a good tactician; I thought he could help me broker a deal that would work well for everyone in the Commonwealth, and rebuild the bonds that were broken between him and our brothers and sisters in Steel.”

Elder Maxson scoffed.

“Impossible. There's no way to mend the damage that thing did!”

“How do you know, when you won't even let him try?” Margot said indignantly. “When Danse saw you in Sanctuary Hills, his only thought was to throw himself on his Elder's mercy and ask you to pardon him for something he had no hand in. But you treated him as though he didn't even exist. I won't let you do that again, Maxson. You can't ignore him now he's here. And since you can't ignore him, and you can't kill him without all hell breaking loose, you're just going to have to forgive him.”

“ _Forgive him?_ Is this some kind of joke?”

Margot gave him a scathing look.

“Do I look like I'm laughing? Of course not. I'm deadly serious. I want you to grant Danse amnesty. Let him make whatever apologies he feels he needs to make, and return him to active service with the Brotherhood of Steel. As a member of both the Brotherhood and the Minutemen, he can act as a liaison between our two factions. He will report to me, and to you, and to no-one else. The Institute is done and dead; the Remnants are running scared and won't last much longer without their precious technology. They're not going to be a problem for anyone any more.”

“And Danse?”

“Maxson, the Brotherhood of Steel has far more to fear from _me_ than it ever will from Danse. Let him bow before his Elder and seek your mercy, and all will be well. Then we can start over in the morning and talk about peace treaties for as long as you want.”

Maxson's eyes narrowed.

“And what do you know about mercy?”

Margot cleared her throat.

“ _The quality of mercy is not strain'd; it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blest. It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes; 'tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes the throned monarch better than his crown.”_

It was her trump card, she thought, breathing heavily and studying Maxson's face. She'd seen the Elder reading a book of Shakespeare's complete works with near-religious fervor. If the immortal words of the Bard couldn't sway him, nothing could.

“Your fellow lawyer, Portia,” Maxson said at last, with a small, slow, grim smile. It spread across his face like the gray light of dawn on a rainy day. “ _The Merchant of Venice._ Did you use that quote often before the Great War, de Havilland? When you were standing in court, defending the indefensible?”

“I had that speech framed on the wall of my office,” said Margot proudly. “It's always been dear to my heart. I can recite the rest for you if you like.”

Maxson shook his head.

“Not necessary. I know it just as well as you do. All right, de Havilland, you've made your point. Tell Danse to put down Squire Woods and step back. It - ”

“He,” Margot corrected.

“Very well,” said Elder Maxson, with no small amount of distaste. “ _He_ won't be harmed. I'm willing to show enough mercy to consider Danse part of your diplomatic detail and thus immune from Brotherhood justice... for now _._ We will talk more about this in the morning. Now, after all this unpleasantness, I suggest that we both retire to our respective quarters and reconvene for discussions tomorrow. I'll be sure to consider the points you made in your trademark dramatic, overblown fashion. And just as a friendly aside, General, you may wish to consider telling your men at The Castle to point their artillery elsewhere, if you want there to _be_ a Castle in the morning.”

“And Danse?”

Maxson folded his arms across his chest.

“As I said, he won't be harmed. But he is _not_ to wander this ship unaccompanied. If you turn out to be wrong about him reporting to what's left of the Institute, everyone on board will regret it, you included. I suggest that you keep him close to hand and supervise him appropriately. He is barred from entering any restricted areas, such as the engineering bay or the research stations, and he is not to speak to Brotherhood personnel without permission.”

“Done,” Margot agreed readily. “Good talk, Maxson. Let's start fresh in the morning and see if we can agree not to fight each other to the death this time.”

It might have been her imagination, but she thought she saw the ghost of a smirk on Elder Maxson's face.

“An excellent suggestion. For once, I think you and I have the same strategy in mind. Knights, please stand down. Advise our brothers and sisters that Danse is not to be accosted while he's on board the _Prydwen_. I'm granting him diplomatic immunity for the duration of his stay. You are all dismissed. _Ad victoriam._ ”

The Knights looked at each other, then at Elder Maxson. He gave them a warning look, and they complied, lowering their weapons at once. With salutes and acknowledgments, they quietly withdrew.

“Is everything okay now, Paladin Danse?” said Squire Woods, looking up at Danse from the shelter of his arms. She still looked fearful. “Elder Maxson isn't going to fight you, is he?”

Danse shook his head.

“No. It's all right. We're all going to go to bed now. In the morning, we're going to talk to Elder Maxson about being friends again. Now you should go back to your mother and Scribe Adonato, Squire. It's past your bedtime.”

Squire Woods' face cleared contentedly.

“Okay. Goodnight, Paladin Danse!”

“Goodnight, Squire Woods. Off you go.”

Danse put the girl down gently on the deck, patted her on the head, and let her run back to her mother's arms. Lancer-Initiate Woods scooped her up and began to sob hysterically, clutching her daughter to her chest.

“Phoebe! Are you okay, baby?”

“I'm fine, Mommy. Is it time for bed now? Paladin Teddy says he's tired.”

“Yes, darling, it's time for bed. Let's go and say goodnight to Daddy, okay? We have to tell him that you're safe...”

Lancer-Initiate Woods carried the little Squire away in her arms, with tears still streaming down her cheeks. Squire Woods looked over her mother's shoulder and gave Danse a little wave. Danse smiled, and returned the gesture.

“Proctor Quinlan; Scribe Haylen; Scribe Adonato,” said Maxson curtly. “I am retiring to my quarters for the evening. Steel be with you.”

“And with you, Elder Maxson,” answered Proctor Quinlan, in a sincere and respectful way which made Margot want to roll her eyes, just a little. “Goodnight, sir.”

He and the two Scribes saluted, and withdrew to the mess hall.

“General de Havilland, I bid you and your men goodnight,” said Elder Maxson. “I hope that you all sleep soundly, and that tomorrow's discussions will be rather less... fraught.”

“I hope so too,” said Margot. For once, her reserves of sarcasm were exhausted, and so was she; sleep was starting to sound like a welcome prospect. “Goodnight, Elder Maxson.”

“Goodnight, sir,” said Preston politely.

Danse folded one arm across his chest.

“ _Ad victoriam_ , sir. Goodnight.”

Margot had to hand it to Maxson; the man did at least nod in Danse's direction, even if it was the rather grudging, unfriendly sort of acknowledgment that MacCready and Danse tended to exchange when they saw each other.

_And so, little by little, we tear down the walls which stand between us. It's amazing what a few lines of Shakespeare and the threat of heavy artillery fire can accomplish. I still can't believe I managed to get away with that..._

They turned their backs on each other, this time by mutual agreement, and walked away. The door to Elder Maxson's quarters shut behind him with a very final sound; only then did Preston breathe out.

“General, next time you talk me into something like this, remind me to bring something very strong to drink afterward,” he sighed. “And maybe a change of underwear. I thought we were all dead for sure when that little kid unmasked Danse. Ma'am, I have to ask - how do you always find a way to get people to go along with your crazy schemes and do whatever you want them to?”

“It's a gift,” said Margot modestly. “Really, though, you keep forgetting I used to be a lawyer, Preston. The power of persuasion is one of the tools of the trade.”

“I bet you were a real force to be reckoned with in the courtroom, General.”

Margot let out a wistful sigh.

“Oh, I was. Shame I had to give it up. I was looking forward to going back to work once Shaun was a little older, but... well, we all know how that turned out. The hell with it. I'm going to bed. Danse, come with me; you'd better turn in too. I trust Maxson to keep his word, but I don't want to bet on everyone under his command being slavishly obedient. There's always that one fucking guy who doesn't give a damn about orders.”

“Sounds familiar,” said Danse, with a knowing look at Preston; the other man couldn't help but grin, although he did his best to hide it.

“I heard that, Captain,” she said testily. “And yes, I'm willing to testify before a court of law that I _am_ that one fucking guy, so I should know. Where on earth did you think the term “expert witness” came from? I'm living proof that one insubordinate asshole with a laser rifle can make or break everything. In fact, that's precisely what I'm afraid of.”

“You never did like competition, General,” said Preston, with a chuckle.

Margot gave him a chilly look over her shoulder.

“Not when lives are at stake, Preston. Goodnight. Sleep well.”

He saluted.

“You too, ma'am. Goodnight, Captain.”

“Goodnight, Colonel.”

Danse followed Margot into her quarters, and closed the door behind them. True to Knight Caldwell's word, a military-issue cot had been set up against the wall on the left, near the duffle bag full of junk.

“Margot,” he said, as she took off her Minutemen General's tricorn hat, then shrugged off her uniform overcoat and threw it over the end of her bed. “You have to stop doing this.”

She said nothing. Instead, she seemed to be concentrating on removing the combat armor which covered her chest.

“Don't ignore me, Margot. You can't accuse Elder Maxson of ignoring me and then turn right around to do the same thing. I taught you better than that.”

“Stop doing what? Sticking up for you?” she said at last, tossing the armor aside. “No. I won't.”

“I don't mind you sticking up for me,” said Danse. “But you have to stop grandstanding like this. You could have gotten everyone on board the _Prydwen_ killed today! One wrong word in the wrong place, and we'd all be going to war.”

“But we're not. Instead, we're going to talk about a peace treaty in the morning. Everything turned out fine.”

“You got lucky, soldier! Look, I know you're still angry with Maxson about what happened, but I don't want you to threaten blood and warfare against our Elder. Not in my name. I'm not worth it.”

She turned around, and he saw her eyes; dark, bright, and angry.

“Yes, you are. I would go to war for any one of my friends and family. I'll always stand by the side of the people I care about.”

“And what about your brothers and sisters in Steel?” Danse demanded to know. “They're supposed to be your family, people you profess to care about, and yet you threatened to have them all blown out of the sky if Maxson didn't play ball!”

“Did you not hear the part where he said he was going to have you _killed_ , Danse?” Margot snapped back.

“If you think the importance of my life outweighs those of dozens of brave men and women, and even children, then you're wrong. _It doesn't._ It never will,” said Danse, with a scowl. “What you did just now was unconscionable, soldier! You were willing to risk the lives of everyone on the _Prydwen_ just so you could get your own way in an argument! I've never witnessed anything so arrogant, reckless and – and selfish!”

“Selfish? I did it for _you!_ ” Margot said, with a sudden flare of temper. “I know how much being forced to leave the Brotherhood upset you. I'm going to make Maxson apologize to you and take you back, no matter what it takes to change his mind!”

“And did you even think to ask me if that was what I wanted?”

Margot's mouth fell open.

“I – I thought that _was_ what you wanted. Isn't it?”

“I already told you what I want,” Danse said gruffly. “I want to stay in Sanctuary Hills, with the Minutemen. If Elder Maxson offers me the opportunity to return to the Brotherhood of Steel, then I'll take him up on it; but if he doesn't, then I'll just have to move on and accept that that chapter of my life is over. And so will you. I know some things from the past can be successfully revived, but there are other things which are better off staying dead and buried.”

“Dead and buried? Like how you almost ended up?” Margot said abruptly. “If it hadn't been for me, Maxson would have had you killed at Listening Post Bravo! I know I took a big, _stupid_ risk in bringing you here and that I've been flying by the seat of my pants ever since we arrived, but I thought it was worth a shot if I could get him to promise you amnesty! I don't want you to live your whole life looking over your shoulder, Danse! You shouldn't have to be scared of the people you used to call family!”

“And I shouldn't have to be afraid that you'd fight them all to the death if they looked at me the wrong way!” Danse shot back. “Margot, you're the most fearless person I've ever met, but sometimes you scare the hell out of me. You sail far too close to the wind. One day you're going to say something ill-advised, or take one foolish risk too many, and it won't end well for anybody, especially you!”

“Who cares?” said Margot, with a resentful shrug. “I've already lived two centuries on borrowed time. My luck's going to run out eventually. Better that I die for something I believe in, while I'm still strong enough to fight for it, than wither away alone in the wastes once Dogmeat dies and Codsworth and Shaun break down for good.”

Danse gritted his teeth in frustration.

“For the love of – damn it, Margot! Back in the bunker, you told me to think about the people I'd leave behind if I died before my time. I think it's about time you did the same. Your readiness to take on the world might be admirable, but if you keep on doing it in some misguided attempt to help me, you're going to wind up dead! I don't want your death on my conscience. The last time someone risked everything on my account, they never came home again.”

Margot frowned.

“Are you talking about Cutler?”

“Yes. He placed his trust in me, and I let him down. It's my fault he never made it home.”

“Danse, that's not true. You - ”

“You weren't there, Margot. You don't know. In any event, it's done. Just let it go.”

Danse sat down heavily on the cot and took off his hat, then his jacket. He swallowed a couple of painkillers, grimacing at the bitter taste on his tongue.

“Danse, I - ”

“We should get some sleep. We have a long morning ahead of us.”

“Fine,” Margot said sullenly. She kicked off her boots so hard that one of them bounced off the wall, and threw her blanket over her as she lay down. “I'm tired of talking anyway. Goodnight, _Captain._ ”

“Goodnight, General.”

They both turned over roughly in their beds and closed their eyes against the room's dim light, and the sight of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some brief historical notes - when Margot makes reference to the Bedford Minutemen and the words "vince aut morire", she is actually referring to the famous "Bedford Flag", an early Revolutionary symbol which bore the motto "Vince Aut Morire" ("Conquer Or Die"), said to have been carried by Minuteman Nathaniel Page at Concord on April 19, 1775. Interestingly, spectroscopic analysis of the flag has revealed traces of Prussian blue pigment, which is also used as an antidote for thallium poisoning and for absorbing radioactive caesium. It's unknown whether it survived the Great War in the Fallout universe, but in the real world, the Bedford Flag is still on display in the Flag Room at the Bedford Free Public Library in Bedford, MA.
> 
> Moving from history to pop culture, Mad Max fans may also recognize Deacon's BOS alias... it seemed only fitting to keep up the tradition of Mad Max references in Fallout.


	7. Can't We Be Friends?

Margot awoke from a dark, indistinct vision of blood and fire to find herself lying on the floor with her blanket wrapped around her legs. She'd thrown herself out of bed at some point during the nightmare. The bare floor was cold against the left side of her face. With a small groan, she looked up.

Danse's soft snores filled the room. He was curled up in the cot, lying on his right side. The expression on his face was one of absolute calm. Pain and worry had drawn lines on his face and painted dark shadows under his eyes, but sleep was starting to erase them; he looked a little younger, and a little more handsome.

She wondered how old he was. He'd never mentioned his age, and she'd never asked. She knew he'd joined the Brotherhood of Steel in his teens, and he'd spoken of earning his promotion to Paladin at around the time of the Brotherhood of Steel's assault on the Enclave at Adams Air Force Base in 2277. He'd presumably been a Knight for some time before that, and before that, an Initiate. Old enough to have earned the collection of scars which added a few extra years to his face, but still young enough to have no trace of gray in his hair.

_Early thirties, I guess. Of course, he's a synth. They don't age. I could ask him, but I suppose he wouldn't really know, when all he has to go on are the memories someone else put in his head. Did the Institute program those memories into him before they cut him loose and sent him out into the world, or did he escape and ask the Railroad to give him a new past as well as a future? Nobody seems to know for sure. Deacon spent time in the Capital Wasteland but claims the Railroad never made contact with him there, or in the Commonwealth. Doctor Li didn't recognize him either; she said he must have been created before her time at the Institute. And if the original Shaun knew anything about Danse or why he was made, then he wasn't telling. Too late to ask him now._

Danse really was an enigma, in more ways than one. She'd expected him to be pleased that she'd stood her ground and tried once again to force Maxson to acknowledge his right to exist, even though she'd taken a huge personal risk in doing so. The last time she'd done it, he'd been grateful. This time, he'd been angry. It didn't make any sense. After the weeks and months he'd spent pining over the loss of his place in the Brotherhood of Steel, why would he be annoyed with her for trying to reclaim his position for him? Of course she would never have blown up the _Prydwen_ , or anyone on it. He must have known that she'd been calling Maxson's bluff all along, safe in the knowledge that the Brotherhood of Steel's Elder would never jeopardize the lives of his men for the sake of his own foolish pride, any more than she would.

Margot picked herself up off the floor, went to the desk and shook the liquor bottles, one by one. They were still empty.

“Damn it...”

Whiskey seemed to be the only way to chase away the nightmares. Elder Maxson usually had a flask of the stuff to hand, but she was damned if she was going to ask him to share, and she doubted that there was any hard liquor in the mess hall, which was deserted at night in any event.

She pulled a face when she saw the time on her Pip-Boy display. It was well after midnight and she was wide awake, too shaken by the contents of her dreams to go back to sleep. What was she going to do?

Her eyes fell upon Danse's sleeping form as he mumbled something and turned over. She'd gone to sleep seething with resentment after that terse conversation before bed, but it was hard to stay angry with him when she knew, deep down, that he was right. She was starting to wonder if she'd been a little more preoccupied with the idea of getting back at Maxson than with what had been best for Danse.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more it became apparent that she hadn't been thinking straight. Bluff or no bluff, what she'd threatened to do wasn't just selfish - it was abhorrent. The people who lived and worked on the _Prydwen_ included friends like Haylen, Rhys and Ingram, and a harmless cat whose only desires were food, a warm place to sleep, and a steady supply of tummy-rubs. She thought suddenly of the giggling, chattering Squires, who drew chalk pictures of cats and rocketships on the decks and played tag with each other on the catwalks. She thought of Squire Woods and her teddy bear, and the way the little girl had flung her arms joyfully around Danse's neck when she saw him; she thought of Shaun, safe at home with Codsworth, and how she would feel if some enemy of hers ever threatened to attack Sanctuary Hills and harm her boy to spite her.

_Danse is right. How could I have threatened the lives of people he cares about, and then turned around and claimed I'd done it all for him? He probably despises me for what I said back there, and I can't say I blame him... he must think I'm some kind of monster. Like Kellogg._

That idea stung. She'd have to make it up to Danse somehow, and tell him that she was sorry for how she'd behaved. First, though, she had to find some way to clear her head of the thoughts which were tormenting her and keeping her from sleep.

 _I used to go out onto the flight deck of the Prydwen at night and look at the stars whenever I felt too restless to sleep_ , she heard Danse's voice in her memory; suddenly she was back at Starlight Drive-In again, sitting beside him and looking up at an endless sea of stars. _Seeing the stars always made me feel better. Maybe they'll make you feel better too._

She thought – briefly, foolishly – of waking him up and insisting that he come outside with her to watch the stars he liked so much. She decided against it. Even if he wasn't still angry with her for her behavior, Danse already slept fitfully, when he slept at all, and it seemed pointlessly cruel to disturb him when he finally appeared to have found some peace in his dreams.

Margot picked up her blanket from the floor and draped it over him to keep him warm. She almost stooped to kiss his forehead, the way she did to Shaun when she tucked him in at night, but caught herself just in time.

“Sleep tight, Danse. I'll be back soon,” she murmured instead.

She pulled on her boots and overcoat and left her quarters. She locked the door behind her, just in case, and heard the latch turn on the other side; Danse could get out if he needed to, but nobody could get in. He would be safe enough in there until she got back.

The _Prydwen_ was eerily quiet at night. The everyday noises of marching feet, clanking machinery and the clatter of cafeteria trays were gone, replaced with only the soft background hum of electricity; the Knights and Paladins who shouted out orders to each other during the day were asleep in their bunks. There were no Scribes pacing the catwalks with battered clipboards, or tapping away at the keys of terminals. The only other person who seemed to be awake on the main deck was Star Paladin Hopkins, standing guard outside Maxson's quarters.

“Can't sleep,” Margot said aloud, as she passed the man and noticed the way his grip subtly adjusted on his laser rifle. “I'm going out onto the flight deck for some air.”

Star Paladin Hopkins seemed to relax again at the explanation.

“Not a problem, General,” he said. “Would you like me to arrange an escort for you?”

“No, I could use some time alone to think. But thank you anyway.”

“Of course, ma'am. Just be careful out on deck. The wind's picking up out there.”

“Acknowledged. I'll be careful. Thank you.”

Margot descended the ladder to the command deck and walked out through the door. The lights seemed a little dimmer than usual, but the _Prydwen_ 's control room below her was still manned; the crew working below were on the night shift, keeping watch over the controls and making small adjustments to ensure that the airship stayed perfectly aloft while the rest of its occupants slept.

A gust of wind blew the door back on its hinges when she opened it, almost knocking her over then settled back down again to a brisk, cool breeze. She stepped out onto the deck and saw the guards who flanked the door turn around in surprise.

“General, what are you doing out so late?” asked one. “Is everything all right?”

“Trouble sleeping, Knight,” Margot answered. “I thought some fresh air might help.”

“Well, be careful, ma'am,” he replied, somewhat reluctantly. “There's supposed to be a storm blowing in. Don't go too near the edge, especially near the Vertibird docks. One stray gust of wind, and - ”

“Yeah, I get the picture. I'll be sure to steer clear.”

She strolled out onto the flight deck. The wind whipped at her hair, pulling the curls into messy tangles and tossing the dark waves untidily over her forehead. She smoothed it back down again and pulled her coat tighter around her.

The metal floor clanged beneath her boots as she strode along the catwalk, putting distance in between her and the guards. She needed time alone to think about the world; the only company she wanted was a canopy of dark sky spotted with stars.

Margot passed the Vertibird docks, noting the names stenciled on the side of each aircraft. In Dock Four, _Excalibur_ , Maxson's personal Vertibird - painted jet-black to distinguish it as the Elder's, but otherwise the same as its companions in the other docks. A motto had been painted on its side. She wasn't all surprised by what it was.

“ _Ad Victoriam_. Of course.”

Dock Three contained a plainer Vertibird named _Sagitta_. The aircraft's motto wasn't Latin, but Italian - close enough, she thought. She understood it anyway.

“ _Per Volar Su Nata..._ born to soar.”

Its neighbor in Dock Two was the _Sarissa_ , the Vertibird which had brought her here, piloted expertly by Lancer-Captain Gollightly.

“ _Alis Grave Nil_ ,” she read its motto aloud. “Nothing is heavy with wings.”

Dock One was empty. Margot took care not to go too near the gap in the guard rail as another rush of wind buffeted the _Prydwen_ , and stood at the end of the catwalk instead, looking out at the view. Boston Airport lay below her, its lights glowing brightly; beyond it, the skyline of the city where she'd been born and raised. It was much darker than it should have been. She remembered the skyscrapers as pillars of dazzling light, electricity blazing from their windows from sundown to sunrise. But the streets below were no longer outlined in light, and the neon signs and billboards which had advertised theater shows, Nuka-Cola, Corvega's cars and everything else Pre-War Boston had to sell were as dark and dead as the old world itself. Only a few people paced the airport runways below, smaller than ants.

 _Ants._ She'd have to ask Maxson what he knew about the AntAgonizer and her broadcasts. Did the Brotherhood of Steel consider her supposed army of ants a threat, or just a nuisance?

Margot fumbled in her pocket for her predecessor's hip flask and remembered that that, too, was empty. She'd drained it dry after her last entanglement with Super Mutants near Hangman's Alley. Strong had grumbled his disapproval:

“ _Human shouldn't drink. Make human lazy and bad fighter.”_

Her Super Mutant friend – well, he was the only Super Mutant which hadn't tried to kill her or drag her off to be eaten, which made him a friend by Commonwealth standards – had been right about that, at least. She seemed to reach for the booze a little too easily these days, and that worried her. Shaun and the Minutemen depended on her more than she could ever allow herself to depend on alcohol. She'd opted not to refill the flask, and much as she occasionally regretted that decision, she had to admit that it was probably for her own good. Addiction had almost killed Cait before her intervention; she didn't want it to take her down the same dark road.

There was a packet of cigarettes in the other pocket. General McGann had been a smoker as well as a drinker. Trapped inside the armory of The Castle, he'd spent his final hours drinking himself to death on Amontillado sherry, although he hadn't quite finished his supply of smokes. His preferred brand had been Grey Tortoise, the same kind her father had smoked, hundreds of years ago.

Margot had never cared for the habit herself, but she took out the crumpled packet and sniffed it. The smell of tobacco smoke, deep and slightly stale, clung to its contents like a bittersweet memory in an empty room. She thought right away of Frank Fontaine, her father. Even now, she remembered his face with startling clarity; a man with a dark mustache, neat waves in his hair, and eyes as calmly blue as the sky. He'd liked Tennyson's poems, and scotch, and complaining about the baseball. His voice had been the most reassuring thing in the world.

_Dad..._

He'd been a commercial airline pilot for Horizon-Skyways. Dashing and handsome in his navy-blue pilot's uniform, he'd flown all over the world, and sometimes he'd even taken his wife and daughters along for the trip - Margot had seen Cape Town, Sydney, Rio de Janeiro and even war-torn Europe, all before the age of fifteen, although she'd never made it all the way to Tokyo. The nature of his employment had necessitated a lot of time spent away from home, but her father had always made time for his family; she remembered the holotapes he used to send home from distant airports, telling them about the places he'd visited and reminding them that they were never far from his thoughts.

_Dad was the best. He was always there for me when I needed him._

He'd taught her to drive. He'd been there when she graduated from high school at the top of her class, and when she graduated from the Suffolk County School of Law. He'd walked her proudly up the aisle on her wedding day, cried with joy when she and Nate had announced her pregnancy, and comforted her when her husband had announced his intention to enlist and go off to war – in the end, she'd been so inconsolable that he'd gone to enlist right alongside Nate, promising to keep his son-in-law safe on the front lines. Instead, he'd been transferred from the Army to the Air Force, due to the military's desperate need for pilots; he'd come home on leave in the summer, just long enough to accompany Margot's younger sister on her own trip up the aisle. It had been the last time Margot had ever seen her father, whose Vertibird had been shot down two days before the liberation of Anchorage. She'd never imagined that she would consider him one of the lucky ones, but now she was glad that her father had escaped the horror of seeing his beloved Massachusetts ravaged by nuclear war, and that he'd died with the world he'd known still intact.

_I just wish I'd got to say goodbye. I miss you, Dad._

She still wondered what had happened to her mother - Joanne, elegant and vivacious, whose softly-curled hair had smelled of roses and tobacco, and who had given her deep brown eyes and wicked wit to both her daughters. There had been no place in a Vault for her. Margot had gone back to her parents' old apartment in the Financial District one day, hoping against hope that she might find some reassuring note on the family terminal - or that a Ghoul woman with gently graying hair might look up from the crossword puzzle of an old newspaper, smooth down her print dress, and get up from her armchair to greet her perfectly-preserved daughter as if she'd never been away. The apartment building had still been there, but its floors and walls had begun the long, slow process of total collapse, and many of the apartments had caved in on themselves. The front door of apartment 412 had been blocked utterly by debris. It was hard to tell if the damage had been caused by the bombs, or by the passage of time and a thousand radiation storms; either way, there had been no trace of her mother to be found. She'd flung herself down onto the floor and sobbed in a corner, while Dogmeat whined and tried to lick the tears from her cheeks.

She'd heard that parts of the D.C. metropolitan area had survived, but she'd never dared to make the perilous journey south to the Capital Wasteland to find out what had become of Peggy and Bob. She couldn't stand the thought that they might be a pair of charred, crushed skeletons lying in a bombed-out building, or that they'd made it to their Vault, only to find themselves at the mercy of one of Vault-Tec's twisted social experiments... or worst of all, that they'd survived the initial blast but had been transformed into Feral Ghouls by lethal levels of radiation. Peggy had been sweet-natured, smart and sassy - everything a little sister should be. The thought that she and her husband might now be wandering the wastes, their faces withered by radiation, with tattered rags hanging from their emaciated bodies and some poor traveler's blood dripping from their snarling mouths –

Margot shook the thought from her head. No, she couldn't think like that. She had to imagine that they'd made it, and that their Vault had been a control Vault with no assignment other than to keep its occupants alive and well for as long as possible. She couldn't give up when there was still a trace of hope, however small, that they'd managed to live our their lives in peace.

_Perhaps I should ask Danse if someone from the Brotherhood of Steel might be able to find out what happened to them. They investigated the old Vaults of the Capital Wasteland and kept records of the things they found. Someone out there has to know what became of the town where Bob and Peggy lived. The only question is, do I really want to find out? Or am I better off not knowing, so I can go on imagining that they made it and that Peggy had her baby and carried on the family line, so I'm not the last one left?_

She pressed her hand sadly against her stomach. She'd been pregnant twice. She'd delivered her first baby safely, only to have him snatched away and brought up by her husband's killers until he grew old and found himself on his deathbed, with explosions ripping apart his beloved Institute around him. Her second child had never made it into the world at all. Codsworth had nursed her with tenderness and concern for two days; all she could remember was the blood, and the way she'd curled up into a ball on her bed, willing herself to die so that she could be with Nate again and bring the agony of being alive to an end. Children hadn't worked out for her, no matter how she'd tried. If Peggy and her family hadn't survived the Great War, then there were no more Fontaines, and no more de Havillands either.

_I might be the last of my family. I suppose Danse is too, in a way. There won't be any more synths now that the Institute's been destroyed. One by one, their numbers will dwindle until there aren't any left. They can't build more of themselves in a laboratory, and they can't make more of themselves any other way; even the Gen-3 synths aren't able to have children. They don't grow old, either. I can't imagine anything worse than being eternally young and having to watch everyone you love grow old and die. No family to keep you company, like the Cabots, weathering the centuries together and taking their immortality in their stride. Poor Danse. It sounds like a hellish existence._

How easily her thoughts strayed to Danse, she thought, as she swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to look up at the stars instead. She wished he was here. He'd understand the pain of outliving loved ones and seeing all the things you'd known fall to pieces, as she had. It would have been nice to stand outside with him and commiserate the loss of their old lives beneath a twinkling night sky.

“Got a light?” said a gruff voice behind her.

She gave a start, and looked around. A Brotherhood Knight in an olive-drab jumpsuit and combat armor was leaning against the guard rails. An unlit cigarette was dangling from his mouth.

“Oh,” she said, patting her pockets. “Yeah, I think I have a lighter here somewhere. Hold on.”

The large pockets of her overcoat contained a great number of things. A late General's hip flask and cigarettes; a toy car she'd meant to give to Shaun; a silver pocket watch which would be a handy alternative to her Pip-Boy clock, if she ever remembered to get the damn thing fixed; a stick of bubblegum; a ballpoint pen she'd brought along for signing documents; even a folded advertisement for racing at Easy City Downs, which had some notes scribbled on the back. At last, right at the bottom of a pocket, she found the gold-plated flip lighter she used to start campfires and light Molotov cocktails out in the field.

“Here,” she offered, passing it to the man. “Knock yourself out. Just try not to take out the _Prydwen_ with a stray spark.”

“You're not worried they might blame you if I did?” he said archly.

Margot gave a short laugh and looked out again over the railings. She could see the soft shimmer of the ocean in the moonlight and the glittering of distant stars, almost eclipsed by the clouds which were starting to roll across the sky from the west. The wind picked up again, making some nearby cables whine as the air passed through them.

“I'd like to claim I'm responsible for all the crazy things that happen in the Commonwealth, but I'm not,” she said, with a slight smile. “There are only so many hours in the day, and I can't be _everywhere_. Still, I try. So what's up with you, Knight? Can't sleep either?”

“No. Too much to be done around here. Like you said, there are only so many hours in the day.”

The lighter flared in the darkness; the end of the cigarette became a cherry-red glow, illuminating the lower reaches of his face. Smoke billowed out of his nose and mouth as he breathed out.

“Still, there's time for one last cigarette,” he mused. “I might as well. They're going to execute me in the morning.”

Startled, she turned around to face him.

“Why? What did you do, Knight?”

“I killed someone,” he said, with the same concern as someone who'd just squashed a gnat. He dropped the cigarette on the floor and crushed its glowing embers underfoot.

Margot felt something cold run through her veins. It might have been her blood.

“Who did you kill?”

The man grinned. It was a slow, unpleasant grin, with no trace of mirth. She'd seen it on the faces of Raiders and Super Mutants, right as they announced that it was time for her to meet her end at their hands.

“The General of the Minutemen.”

The cold sensation stopped in her chest. Her breath did too; it held itself in the upper reaches of her lungs and refused to come out.

“You can't,” she said quietly. She took a step backward, only to find herself standing against the guard rail, with nowhere to run; the Knight was blocking her path back to the _Prydwen's_ interior. “I may be the General, but I'm a Brotherhood Paladin. You can't raise a hand to a sworn brother or sister. Our bond is Steel!”

“ _Was_ ,” he corrected her, with a smile of evil triumph, and stepped forward.

Margot tried to scream, but he grabbed her and pressed a hand against her mouth to muffle her cries. When she fought to free herself, the Knight shoved her to the floor, sending her sprawling onto the deck. This time she succeeded in crying out for help, but nobody came running.

“I sent the guards away,” he said, with a small snicker. “I told them your pet synth was on the loose and they went running to investigate. It'll be dead soon. And so will you, you treacherous whore! Our Elder offered you peace, and instead you humiliated him! That was your first mistake!”

He picked her up roughly from the catwalk. Margot struggled and screamed as he held her by the throat and manhandled her backward; her heels skidded across the catwalk's steel floor as he dragged her to the edge of the empty Vertibird dock, and to the yawning gap in the railings.

“It'll be your last mistake too, _General_ ,” he hissed into her ear, as her fists flailed uselessly against his armor. “The Brotherhood of Steel will not allow the good name of Elder Maxson to be dragged in the dirt by wastelander filth! Die by my hand, bitch! _For the Paragons!”_

Rough hands picked her up by the lapels of her coat before she could plead for her life, and threw her, shrieking, over the edge.

*

She was standing on the bridge by Sanctuary Hills, beautiful in a white gown covered in lace. Her wedding gown, from before the bombs. She'd walked up the aisle of some unknown church, wearing that exquisite dress, to be by the side of the man in the blue-and-yellow Vault suit. She should have been happy; and yet the hem and skirt of the dress were stained with blood, and the tiny baby she was cradling in her arms was dead. The look in her eyes was one of infinite sadness.

“I'll take care of you,” he kept hearing himself say. “Everything's going to be all right.”

But she smiled, very sorrowfully, and shook her head. The dark curls that surrounded her face bobbed.

“I wish I could have told you how much I loved you.”

“Please,” he said, trying to grab her arm before she could turn away. “Don't go. We can still - ”

She climbed up onto the bridge and jumped over the edge before he could stop her. The river should have been a few feet below, but when he ran to look, there was only a gaping blue void beneath the bridge. She fell forever, lost in a sea of clouds.

“No!” he was screaming, chest heaving with the weight of all the sobs he'd ever suppressed. “Oh God – hold on! I'm coming!”

He didn't want to jump into the unknown, but he had no choice. She needed him. Old, roughened wood splintered beneath his hands as he climbed, and then he was falling after her, feet first, for thousands of miles. No matter how he looked for the figure in white below him, she was nowhere to be found. She'd fallen first, and fallen hard. He would never catch up to her in time.

The ground rushed up to meet him. He was going to die. He cried out and tried to brace himself for impact, for whatever good that would do now, but it was already too late -

*

Danse woke with a gasp stuck in his throat, and looked around the room in terror. His quarters. _Her_ quarters. His clothes clung to him, damp with the sweat which chilled his skin. There was a blanket on top of him. He didn't remember pulling it over him when he went to sleep, but there it was.

“Margot?”

There was no answer from her bed. It lay empty, its pillow askew. Her overcoat was missing, and so was she. His first thought was that she'd stolen out of the room, consumed with guilt after he'd called her selfish, and run outside to throw herself off the _Prydwen_. Fear started to rise in his chest.

 _Don't panic, soldier,_ he told himself, silently scolding himself for being so illogical. _She's okay. Even in her darkest moments, Margot never gives up hope. She's too brave and too stubborn to do something like that. And there's no way anybody could have abducted her. If they had, they wouldn't have bothered to let her put her overcoat on first. She's just gone to the restroom, or outside for some air. She'll be back soon._

He was about to lie down again and try to go back to sleep when he heard feet stampeding past the door.

“ _It got out somehow... Knight Payne said he saw it snooping around near Scribe Neriah's station!”_

“ _De Havilland's going to pay for this! I never trusted that bitch!”_

Danse's heart started to race. Something had gone wrong. He didn't know what, but he wasn't about to stick around and find out. He had to find Margot and get her out of here before they could both be killed. They'd come back for Preston if they could, but the Brotherhood of Steel had no quarrel with Colonel Garvey, whose behavior had always been impeccable; he was safer than either of his compatriots, and far more likely to walk off the _Prydwen_ unharmed. Right now, finding Margot and getting her to safety was his top priority.

He ran to the toolbox and opened it up. He'd left a Stealth Boy in there somewhere... he hoped Margot hadn't already used it on some mission, because he couldn't be seen walking around unaccompanied. Especially now. The voices outside had sounded very, very angry.

To his relief, it was still nestled at the bottom of the box - a small brown satchel, open at the top to reveal the switches on the control panel. It was an earlier model of the RobCo Stealth Boy, less advanced than the ones he'd seen in the Capital Wasteland, but the modulating field which bent light around the user and rendered them invisible worked the same way. A device like this had been his salvation the last time he'd had to get off the _Prydwen_ in a hurry.

His thoughts were still muddled with sleep, but an escape plan was already assembling itself in his head; the training which overrode all his other thoughts in times of trouble. He wouldn't run the risk of taking _Excalibur_ again this time. One of the other Vertibirds would do. Or perhaps he could get himself and Margot as far as the engineering bay, grab a couple of suits, make a run for it and hurl themselves off the airship. You could survive almost any fall in Power Armor, provided the suit held up and you landed correctly; the armor would absorb the impact and any resulting damage, although it would take hours of maintenance to repair and recalibrate the shock absorbers afterward.

_The hell with the shock absorbers. We can leave the damn suits on the beach if we have to. We just have to get out of here and run for it. We'll have to leave the Commonwealth, of course. We'll take Shaun and Dogmeat with us, and Codsworth too. But where will we go? The Capital Wasteland? Further south, until we hit the Gulf Coast? Or west, to the Rockies, or the NCR? Maybe we can take in New Vegas on the way... I heard it's quite a sight to see._

His hand closed around the Stealth Boy, and he fixed the device to his belt. The field would last for thirty seconds. It wasn't much, but it might be just enough. He'd have to hurry.

Danse ran to Margot's bed and fumbled underneath the frame. His spare combat knife was still in its old hiding place. She'd ordered that no weapons be brought aboard the _Prydwen_ , reminding her men that they were here to talk, not fight, and that even if things went wrong, Maxson could hardly order the execution of unarmed diplomats without making a pariah of himself in the process. But he wasn't about to make an escape without some means of defense at his disposal. He tucked the knife into his belt.

_Just in case things go even further south._

Danse unlatched the door, and flipped the switch at his side; he looked down and saw himself disappear. His movements shimmered like the haze which hung over roads in the midday heat, or reflections on water; otherwise, he was part of the scenery, an invisible man.

Just thirty seconds before he became very visible indeed. He couldn't waste them.

He opened the door just wide enough to allow room for egress, and slipped out, holding his breath as he passed Maxson's quarters and Star Paladin Hopkins, who was standing guard outside the door. The Star Paladin didn't seem to notice his presence, or the slight disturbance in the air.

 _Outside,_ some instinct told him. _She's outside, getting some air. Or looking at the stars. She wouldn't be wandering around the main deck. She wouldn't want to disturb any of her brothers and sisters while they slept, and there's no reason for her to be in the engineering bay, or the research lab. She'll be out on the flight deck._

He put one foot on the ladder, then the other, taking care to minimize the noise of his boots on the metal rungs, and slid down the rest of the way as soon as he could. He crept across the deserted command deck and saw the glow of red lights pass invisibly through his body. It was a strange sight. He'd never been used to stealth; creeping around like a thief had always seemed dishonorable and cowardly. Right now, though, he had to admit that silence and darkness were his friends.

There were no guards at the door to the _Prydwen_. They'd run off in search of him and left the entrance unprotected. _Sloppy_ , he thought disapprovingly. They should have sent someone else and stayed at their posts, or at least called for relief before they left. It was as well that he hadn't been the one to train them. Their incompetence made his job easier.

He sneaked out onto the flight deck, unaccosted; he was almost knocked over by the force of the wind as it shrilled across the deck, blowing over stacks of barrels and storage crates.

A bloodcurdling scream cut through the air; Danse's heart stopped when he saw the figure standing at the end of the catwalk near Dock One, and the other one dangling helplessly from the edge.

_Oh no..._

All thoughts of stealth forgotten, he broke into a run.

*

“You son of a bitch!” Margot howled, clinging on with all her might to the edge. She'd managed to fling out an arm as she went over the guard rail; she'd caught herself on it and felt her fingers slip uselessly through the rails, but she'd grabbed onto the lip of the catwalk before the rest of the _Prydwen_ could fall past her. Now she was hanging on by her fingertips, screaming defiance and flailing against the wind as she tried to pull herself up and get a better handhold.

The Knight smiled venomously down at her.

“Inspiring last words, General. Truly a sentiment for the ages.”

“Oh, fuck you!” she shrieked. “Pull me up and maybe I won't have you shot in the face! Why are you doing this? What the hell are the Paragons, anyway?”

“Of course _you_ wouldn't know,” he said, with scorn painting every word black. “You never understood our ways, wastelander. The traditions of the Brotherhood of Steel have always been meaningless to savages like you. I could explain, but... well, from where I'm standing, there doesn't seem to be much point.”

“I think I could be persuaded to care if you pulled me up!” she yelled back. “Look, can't we talk about this? Over a beer, or a coffee... or _something_?”

“It's a little late for that, General.”

“For the love of God, man!” she hollered, in a last resort to appeal to him; she'd managed to get her other hand up to the edge, but her arms felt weak and useless, and her fingers were starting to go numb. She forced them to tighten around the catwalk's edge, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold on. “I have a _child!_ He needs his mother! Look, I don't care what you do to me, but don't make him an orphan! Please, I'm begging you! Just let me go home to my son!”

The Knight just laughed.

“You think the Brotherhood of Steel gives a single, solitary damn about some child-shaped abomination the Institute made in a lab? When I'm done here, I'll tell my brothers that you're gone, and that your synthetic son is next. Don't worry, General, you'll see him again soon enough!”

He laughed again, maniacally, and brought down one of his boots on her hand, stamping down hard on her fingertips.

“ _No!”_ she screamed, over the sound of the gale, as one bruised finger uncurled and slipped off the metal edge. She could feel gravity pulling at her, and the wind trying to hurl her clear of the platform. With a desperate sort of regret, she saw flashes of Nate and Codsworth; Dogmeat's happy, furry face; Shaun, who would always be ten years old; Piper, Cait, Hancock, MacCready, Deacon, Nick, Curie, and all the other friends she would never say goodbye to. Preston and the Minutemen, the Brotherhood of Steel, the Railroad, and all the others she would disappoint by falling to her doom instead of bringing peace to the Commonwealth.

And Danse. Always, even now, he filled her thoughts. She would never be able to tell him how much she cared about him, or stand with him on the bridge in Sanctuary Hills and share the kiss that never was, and now would never be. She'd let him down too. His death would follow hers as inevitably as dusk followed the sunset; she'd brought him here with a promise to protect him. She'd failed.

She felt the sole of the Knight's boot slam down on her knuckles again, and she lost a little more of her grip. Tears were welling up in her eyes. She'd left too much undone; too many words left unsaid. So few of the things she'd cared about seemed to matter now. Settlements would manage to struggle on with or without her help, and the things which had been taken from her home in Sanctuary Hills seemed stupid and worthless. Who cared about drapes, or a gold watch, or even a stupid law diploma? She should have tried harder, cared more... found some way to save herself from this.

_This is all my fault. I was an arrogant, selfish dumbass, and now I'm going to pay the price. Danse was right all along. I should have listened to him in the first place. But I didn't. I thought I knew better. Now I'm going to die..._

“So how should my brothers and I destroy that synth you called a son, General?” the Knight was taunting her. He pressed the sole of his boot against the fingers still clutching the catwalk's edge. “Should we drown it in the river? Burn it? Vaporize it? Break its neck? You know, I think we might just shoot it. Two in the head and it stays dead, right?”

“Oh God, no!” she was sobbing. Tears spilled from her eyes and dropped down her face, blown away in an instant by the wind. “Please! Someone help! _Please!_ ”

The Knight laughed at her.

“Nobody's coming for you, General. You're - ”

He stopped mid-sentence; his eyes widened, and he started to gasp. An ugly red puncture wound appeared in his neck and drew itself across his throat in a straight line. Blood burbled from his lips and then he pitched backward, landing on the catwalk in a clumsy, gurgling heap.

Something clattered on the catwalk and broke through a faint shimmer in the air; a combat knife, its blade wet with crimson. Margot caught the whiff of damp iron on a breath of wind, then felt unseen hands grab her arm and haul her up to safety. She stumbled and fell face-forward onto the catwalk; she hadn't realized she was still screaming until she felt the jolt of the landing knock the breath out of her.

With a hum, the stealth field which surrounded her invisible savior dissipated; the figure it uncloaked was Danse's. He was panting, sprawled on the deck beside her, his shirt and jeans covered in blood. He stank of nervous sweat, with a hint of Power Armor polish and paint; it wasn't exactly fragrant, but it was still the most reassuring scent in all the world. She burst into tears and flung her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

“Danse, I'm so sorry!” she sobbed, even as she felt his arms fold reassuringly around her. “This is all my fault! I should never have said those things! I know I was being stupid, and selfish, but I was trying to call Maxson's bluff so he'd back down! You know I'd never hurt our brothers and sisters in Steel, they're our _family,_ I would never _–_ I didn't mean it, I swear!”

“It's okay,” he said. His breath was warm against her face. “I've got you. You're all right.”

“I'm sorry!” Margot wailed. The tears came out in torrents; she couldn't seem to stop them. “I'm so, so sorry. Please forgive me...”

“It's okay.”

Danse was cradling her like a child, close to his chest; she felt like little Squire Woods, frightened and confused by the events going on around her, but comforted by the knowledge that her hero was near, keeping her warm and safe within the confines of his arms. As long as he was holding onto her, she thought, leaning into his shoulder, everything would be all right.

“Thank you for saving me,” she whispered gratefully.

She heard a little grunt that might have been amusement, or the accompaniment of an eye-roll.

“You didn't think I was going to let anything happen to you, did you?”

“I wouldn't have blamed you if you did,” Margot said, closing her eyes. “I'm an idiot. You'd be better off without me.”

“Don't ever say that,” Danse said fiercely, and drew her even closer into the hug. “Don't – I almost lost you. If I'd waited a few seconds more to come looking for you, it might have been too late. You would have fallen and... Margot, if I ever lost you, I don't know what I'd do.”

She started to cry again.

“I don't know what I'd do without _you_. I'm sorry for being such an ass, Danse. You mean the world to me.”

He said nothing; he was stroking the back of her head, smoothing down her wind-ruffled hair with a tenderness that she'd never expected from such large, strong hands. She sighed and let her head rest against him. Perhaps, if she stayed still and quiet enough, he'd kiss her on the forehead. Maybe then she'd find the courage to blurt out what she should have told him all along.

She looked up at the sounds of yelling from the far end of the flight deck, and running feet. A pair of Knights had stopped just short of the grisly scene; they were looking at a dead Knight, who'd expired messily in a pool of his own blood, and Danse and Margot curled up together, both drenched in gore, with a bloodied combat knife lying a few feet away.

“What the hell's going on?” she heard one of the Knights exclaim. “Oh – oh, _shit._ Fletcher! Go get Elder Maxson! And Knight-Captain Cade! Quickly!”

Knight Fletcher took off, shouting for assistance, back up the stairs to the _Prydwen_ 's entrance. Margot groaned.

_Great. They're going to think we murdered the bastard. They'll never believe us if we tell them what really happened. There goes our mutual non-aggression pact... we'll be shot dead at dawn for sure._

“What did you do?” said the remaining Knight, taking off her Power Armor helmet to glare at them both. “General – Paladin? Did you kill him?”

“No,” Danse spoke up, before Margot could. “I did.”

“You synthetic son of a bitch!” spat the Knight. She brandished her laser pistol and pointed it at Danse's forehead; hatred was burning behind her eyes. “She spared your worthless existence and this is how you repay her kindness? Murdering one of her brothers in Steel? You'll burn for this, Danse. You'll get no mercy from Elder Maxson now, that's for damn sure! You're _fucked!_ ”

“Tell me something I don't know,” Margot heard Danse mutter. “At least you're safe, Margot. I don't care what happens to me, as long as you're okay.”

She clutched his hand. It was covered in blood, but she tightened her grip, in spite of the pain in her bruised fingers.

“I won't let anything happen to you, Danse,” she told him. Her voice was trembling. “I'll tell Elder Maxson what happened. Maybe he won't believe us, but that's his problem. Like Piper always says, the truth will out. That asshole tried to kill me and if they throw us off the _Prydwen_ , I'll tell the whole world on the way down.”

“At least we'll go together,” said Danse. He was trying to sound brave, but she heard the catch in his voice. “ _Semper fidelis._ ”

“ _Semper fidelis,_ ” she agreed. “No matter what happens, I won't let go.”

She felt him grab her other hand and squeeze it.

“Me neither.”

“Knight Raymond,” Margot said, as loud as she dared. “Send someone to wake up Colonel Garvey and fetch him out here immediately. Tell him that there's been an – an incident, and he's needed out on the flight deck.”

“Oh no,” said the Knight, shaking her head. “No, you don't. You think I'm dumb enough to leave you two out here unattended so you can take off on a Vertibird and escape? I'm not going anywhere!”

“Well, shit, there goes Plan B,” said Margot sarcastically, much to Danse's horror. “You got us, Raymond! We were totally going to point at something behind you, yell “ _Look, it's the Enclave!”_ and take off with _Excalibur_ the minute you turned your back _._ Our master escape plan is completely ruined. Look, just get the Colonel down here! You don't want to know what will happen if he wakes up in the morning and finds out his General's been thrown off the _Prydwen_. He'll go berserk and kill absolutely everything in sight. That man has the filthiest temper in the Commonwealth.”

Danse was staring at her as if she'd lost her mind.

“You do realize you're talking about _Preston Garvey?_ ” he said, frowning.

“Oh, absolutely,” said Margot, with a completely straight face. “He's a one-man apocalypse. The only thing that restrains his uncontrollable urge to kill is the secret code word, which only I know. So it would be a very good idea to go and get him before that knowledge is lost to history, Knight. You don't want to be responsible for unleashing Part Two of the end of the world on an unsuspecting Commonwealth.”

“What the hell have you brought onto our flagship, de Havilland?” Knight Raymond demanded to know, and pointed the laser pistol in Margot's direction. “Exactly how many Institute spies, dangerous psychopaths and other assorted killing machines do you have serving under you in the Minutemen?”

Margot scowled.

“That's classified Minutemen information, Knight. But if you don't send for Colonel Garvey right away, I'll ensure that you meet each and every one of them personally. Go. _Now!_ ”

Knight Raymond looked over her shoulder and lowered her weapon.

“No need, _General._ He's already on his way. Much good will he do you when Elder Maxson finds out what you and your pet synth have done. I'm going inside. To hell with both of you. I hope Elder Maxson executes you both personally... and that I get to watch.”

“I never liked Knight Raymond,” said Margot loudly, before the Knight was quite out of earshot. “Remind me to step in some Brahmin shit next time I'm deployed, so I can have her clean my boots when I get back to the ship.”

She saw Knight Raymond throw a glare over her shoulder as she marched back to the stairs.

“Margot, what the hell are you playing at?” Danse hissed in her ear. “This isn't helping!”

Margot laughed nervously, and showed him her hands; they were pale with shock, and trembling violently.

“I'm sorry. I think it's nerves. Or adrenaline. Oh God, I've nearly died once already tonight. I don't think I can go through it again. I think I'm going to throw up...”

“Please, not on me,” said Danse, with a pained expression. “I'm already covered in blood. One bodily fluid per life-threatening crisis is enough, thank you.”

Margot laughed again, a little more weakly, and then felt her stomach heave upward.

“Oh crap - ”

She wrestled herself free of Danse's arms and made it to the railing just in time. Coughing and choking noises filled their immediate airspace; Danse got back to his feet and tried to support her as she vomited noisily over the side of the catwalk.

“It's okay, soldier. Just get it all out of your system,” he said. He patted her on the back in what he hoped was a comforting way, and tried not to breathe in. The smell of regurgitated food was making his own stomach shift unpleasantly.

“Look out below,” Margot groaned, wiping her mouth. “Sorry, folks. Airsickness inbound.”

“If they stand directly underneath the _Prydwen_ after being told repeatedly not to do so, especially during inclement weather, then they deserve everything they get,” said Danse sternly. “Falling objects are a known hazard, particularly in stormy conditions, and during my time on the _Prydwen_ I had to discipline several of our brothers and sisters for throwing pennies and other small items off the flight deck for their own amusement. Not to mention the time I caught the Initiates engaging in a pissing contest during high winds.”

Margot tried not to laugh; her throat and stomach both ached from the effort of retching.

“Literally?”

“I'm afraid so. They even kept score. Personally, I will never understand the fascination.”

“Who won?”

“Initiate Lawson, or so they assured me, but that's hardly the point. The point is that there's no sense in worrying about the people below us when we should be far more concerned with the fact that we're standing next to the body of one of our brothers in Steel, and that Elder Maxson is heading our way...”

Margot groaned again and looked up from the railing. Elder Maxson was hurrying down the stairs, flanked by a pair of Knights and followed closely by Star Paladin Hopkins, a bleary-eyed Knight-Captain Cade, and Lancer-Captain Kells, who did not appear to be amused about being woken in the middle of the night to find the flight deck of his vessel stained with blood. Behind them was Proctor Quinlan, with his hands nervously aflutter, and behind him, Preston Garvey, who looked thoroughly bewildered as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

She felt her knees give way beneath her; Danse caught her before she could hit the deck and helped her back into something approximating a standing position.

“General!” roared Elder Maxson. He was standing barefoot on the catwalk, with his leather battlecoat thrown hurriedly over his nightclothes; somehow he still managed to cut an intimidating figure in striped pajamas. “What the hell's going on out here? What have you done this time?”

“She didn't do anything,” said Danse shortly.

Elder Maxson glowered at him.

“I wasn't talking to you! De Havilland! _Explain this_ _atrocity at once!_ ”

Knight-Captain Cade hurried forward to examine the Knight lying on the deck. He knelt down beside the body, feeling for a pulse.

“Knight Payne. He's dead,” he pronounced. “Cause of death appears to be exsanguination; cut throat. Still warm, and the blood's fresh. I'd say he died within the past half-hour. I'll arrange an autopsy immediately, Elder Maxson, but I think we can quite safely rule out accidental death.”

Elder Maxson was shivering with rage, and perhaps a little cold as the wind began to pick up.

“Why is there a dead Knight on my ship, General?”

“I don't know! Maybe you should ask him!” said Margot angrily, pointing to the corpse at her feet. “He was the one who tried to throw me off the _Prydwen_!”

“Impossible!” spluttered Proctor Quinlan. “A member of the Brotherhood would never try to kill his sister in Steel! How dare you cast aspersions on the honor of one of our men, General? After your own disgraceful behavior earlier today, why on earth should we believe you?”

“Because it's true, Quinlan, you pompous bastard!” said Margot. Her chest was starting to heave again; this time with dry, terrified sobs. “He asked me for a light and when I gave him one, he picked me up and threw me over the edge! I managed to grab onto the catwalk before I fell, but he – he stepped on my hands, trying to make me let go. Look...”

She extended her hands and stretched out her bruised fingers, with a little difficulty; Knight-Captain Cade stood up and shone a little pocket flashlight on them. He drew in his breath at the sight of the mottled pink-and-purple bruising on her fingers, and the faint imprinted lines which made up the pattern of a military boot's sole.

“The marks on her hands appear to be consistent with her story, sir,” he reported. “Severe contusions to several fingers, minor lacerations to the cuticles, and extensive bruising around the knuckles. I think she's telling the truth.”

“And did Knight Payne say anything before he allegedly pushed you overboard? What kind of motive would he have had for doing so?” persisted Quinlan. “You've accused him of a very grave crime – the attempted murder of a fellow member of the Brotherhood of Steel. Why would he do such a thing?”

“He said it was because I'd humiliated Elder Maxson,” said Margot. The shaking was getting worse; it was spreading from her hands to her entire body. She felt cold, right down to her bones. “But he said something else, too. Something about the - the Paragons?”

The blood drained in one go from Maxson's face.

“What?” he said faintly. He shook his head. “No... that can't be possible. Proctor Quinlan, you told me we were rid of the Paragons! That they weren't going to be a problem any more!”

Proctor Quinlan's face had taken on an even paler and more ghastly sheen. The fluttering of his hands intensified.

“Sir, this is impossible,” he said, the pitch of his voice rising rapidly as Maxson fixed him with an icy look. “We _dealt_ with the Paragons! There aren't any more of them left! The ones who didn't flee were executed for their crimes against the Brotherhood and the Codex! You said yourself that their beliefs flew in the face of everything we stood for and that we couldn't tolerate such practices in our ranks!”

“Would someone care to tell me what the hell is going on?” said Preston impatiently. “What are the Paragons, and what does this have to do with the General?”

“Colonel Garvey, I must apologize,” said Quinlan. His voice became stiff and cold again. “Of course I will explain. The Paragons of Steel are – well - ”

“A cult,” Maxson interrupted him. “A damned cult, dedicated to me, of all things. I'm aware that many of the younger members of the Brotherhood were very taken with the story of our founder, Roger Maxson, and the fact that I'm his last living descendant. But while there's nothing wrong with looking up to their Elder, I draw the line at being worshiped. I'm not a god, or a king; I'm just a man, trying to protect the future of my own kind. And I must say that I find the implication that I'm anything other than entirely human _profoundly_ distasteful.”

“We've had problems with similar cults in the Brotherhood in the past, but we've taken steps to eradicate them straight away,” Quinlan elaborated, with a nervous little chuckle. “Most of them are little more than the misplaced adoration of foolish Initiates. The Paragons, though... they've been more troublesome than most. Their idolization of Elder Maxson borders on fanaticism of the most pernicious and dangerous kind.”

“Yeah, you think?” retorted Margot. “Do you know what that bastard said to me, Quinlan? He said that I was wastelander filth. A _savage_ who'd never understand the traditions of the Brotherhood of Steel. He said that after I was dead, he and his brothers were going to kill Shaun – he said they were going to – that they'd - ”

The words got stuck in her throat. She choked on them, then coughed and heaved in an attempt to draw breath back into her body, but found that she couldn't. It was as if the dreadful thought of Shaun being in danger was strangling her from the inside out. She clawed at the collar of her shirt and her throat until she finally sucked in enough air; it came screaming back out of her in a horrible keening noise.

“Oh God, I can't breathe!”

“It's just a panic attack, General,” Knight-Captain Cade told her, stepping forward and gripping her by her upper arms as she fought for breath. “It's all right, it'll subside. Try to stay calm and work through it. Deep breaths. Nice and steady, like _this_.”

He breathed in, slowly and deliberately, then let out the air in his lungs again in a long exhalation. Margot did her best to imitate the movement, but her chest felt as though it was frozen solid; her breath burned like ice in the back of her throat.

“I can't!” she sobbed.

“Yes, you can,” said Knight-Captain Cade calmly. “Look at me. Just do what I do. Keep your eyes on me, and _breathe_. Slow, controlled breaths. In, then out. In... out.”

Margot forced herself to steady her breathing; she held in a deep breath, defying it to escape, then tried to relax and let it out again. It came out in a long gasp. She sucked the air back in again, then blew it out through her mouth.

“Good,” he told her. “Keep doing that. Slow, deep breaths. It'll bring your heart rate back down and help you regain focus. You're going to be fine.”

He turned to Elder Maxson.

“We should get her inside, sir. She's suffered one hell of a shock, and I should really treat those injuries to her hands.”

Elder Maxson's mouth was open, but he remembered himself, and closed it.

“Of course,” he said hastily. “Star Paladin Hopkins, please bring the General to the sick bay so Knight-Captain Cade can tend to her. Have the Knights bring Knight Payne's body inside for his inspection too.”

Star Paladin Hopkins saluted.

“Yes, sir! Knight McClellan; Knight Donaghue! Bring that man inside immediately! General, if I could escort you and Knight-Captain Cade to the sick bay - ”

Margot grabbed Danse's arm and clung to him, the way a drowning woman might grab onto a rock and hold on with her last ounce of strength.

“I'm not going anywhere without Danse,” she insisted. “He stays with me. I want Preston there too.”

Knight-Captain Cade looked to Elder Maxson for an answer; when the man gave him a small, stiff nod in response, he said:

“Of course your men may accompany you, General. Although I'm sure I needn't remind you that I'm a doctor, and that I took a vow to do no harm. You're quite safe in the clinic, I assure you.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I was safe out on the flight deck too,” Margot muttered through numb lips, as Star Paladin Hopkins led them away. “If those sons of bitches come for my Shaun, I'll - ”

She stopped mid-sentence at the thought.

_Shaun... they said they were going to kill him. They were going to kill my little boy..._

Her pace grew a little more unsteady. The _Prydwen_ seemed to be caught in a spin, spiraling out of control; her face and hands felt weak, and her head even lighter than the ship itself. Stars were everywhere, dancing silver and white across her vision. The world behind the blanket of stars was getting darker, turning black and gray, until at last she lost her battle with consciousness and swooned.

“General!”

Preston rushed anxiously to catch Margot as she slumped forward, but Danse had already grabbed her. He caught her before she hit the ground and scooped her up into his arms.

“It's all right, I've got her,” he told Preston, as he carried the unconscious woman away. “Let's get her back inside, Colonel...”

Preston looked uneasily behind him at the scene unfolding on the flight deck. Two Knights in Power Armor, struggling to pick up the bloody corpse of their comrade with something approaching decorum; beside them, Lancer-Captain Kells, Proctor Quinlan and Elder Maxson were having a furious discussion which was threatening to become a fully-fledged argument.

 _This is insane,_ he thought. _No matter where she goes, the General keeps turning what's left of the world upside-down. What next?_

*

Margot awoke to a bright light in her face. Her first thought was that she was being interrogated, until she realized that she was lying on a hospital gurney, beneath a medical examination lamp, and that Danse was holding her bruised, bandaged hand. He was looking the other way and didn't appear to have noticed that she'd opened her eyes.

She struggled to sit up, and saw Knight-Captain Cade examining the dead Knight's body on the next gurney. He'd pulled back the man's sleeve, and was frowning.

“Well, there's your answer, Proctor Quinlan. Look.”

He held up the man's right arm for inspection. On the inside of the pale, bloodless wrist was a tattoo in blue ink - a winged shield bearing three vertical diamonds. It was the same emblem which Elder Maxson wore on his Power Armor to denote his rank as Elder, but with a small difference; sitting atop the emblem was a small three-pointed crown.

“The mark of the Paragons. They use it to identify each other and verify their membership,” Quinlan commented, leaning over to look. “I'm not sure how the Paragons of Steel managed to revive themselves after we put them down the last time, but it appears they're rearing their ugly heads again.”

Elder Maxson was standing in the corner with his arms folded.

“Then put them down again. I want them all dead by dawn, Proctor Quinlan! They almost murdered de Havilland! She may be a stubborn, recalcitrant pain in the ass, but she's also our sister in Steel, and one of our best soldiers. We have her to thank for the destruction of the Institute, and for her efforts to stabilize the Commonwealth in conjunction with the Minutemen. If she'd gone overboard, I dread to think what might have happened!”

“Well, for one thing, I'd have made a hell of a mess on the runway,” Margot said out loud, and saw everyone turn to look at her.

“General... how are you feeling?” said Quinlan, attempting to smile.

“Like somebody just tried to throw me off the _Prydwen,_ Quinlan,” she said, grimacing. “So yeah, peachy. What just happened?”

“You fainted,” Danse told her. He gave her hand the lightest of squeezes, but didn't let go. “You're in the sick bay. I don't know if you heard what Knight-Captain Cade just said, but we've been able to confirm what you told us. Knight Payne was one of the Paragons of Steel. A traitor in our own ranks... and to think Maxson was worried about _me_. Seems like he's got bigger things to worry about than which Institute scientist put me together.”

“So let me get this straight,” Preston said sharply, from across the room. “A cult dedicated to worshiping the leader of the Brotherhood of Steel just tried to murder our General. And the rest of the Brotherhood is absolutely not responsible for their actions. Are we supposed to be _reassured_ by this discovery, Proctor Quinlan? I was always under the impression that Elder Maxson kept his house in order, but ever since we arrived on the _Prydwen_ , we've seen no evidence of that. On the contrary. You've already threatened to execute one of the men under my command just for setting foot on board this ship, pointed guns in our faces, and then allowed the situation to escalate to the point where General de Havilland had to resort to the threat of _artillery fire_ to force you to back off! And now attempted murder – you realize that permitting one of your men to go out and assassinate the General technically constitutes an act of war, Elder Maxson?”

“You think this is my doing, Colonel?” snapped Maxson. “You think I _advocated_ this? That I'd give the order to have one of my own assassinated? De Havilland is a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel!”

“That didn't stop you from ordering me to execute Danse,” Margot reminded him, from the gurney. “He was a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel – a good man who served with honor and integrity, and carried out your every order without question. Then he offended you by the mere fact of his existence, and he had to be disposed of.”

“That was _completely_ different - ” Maxson began.

“Was it?” Margot said abruptly. “Colonel Garvey is right, Elder. The attempted assassination of a faction leader on a diplomatic mission is a very serious crime. One which, as my second-in-command correctly pointed out, could certainly be construed as an act of war against the Minutemen.”

“By a rogue operative in the Brotherhood of Steel, who acted in complete opposition to my orders that your delegation had diplomatic immunity and was _not_ to be harmed,” said Maxson. He looked rattled. “I had every reason to believe that the cult to which Knight Payne professed allegiance had been permanently wiped out, and that there was no reason to fear for the lives of anyone on board this ship. I apologize unreservedly for my failure to ensure your safety, General. This shameful incident should never have happened.”

“No, it shouldn't,” said Margot, glaring at him. “Danse had to take down that fanatic in order to save my life! If it hadn't been for him, I'd be dead and any hope of that pact you wanted would have fallen off the _Prydwen_ with me. After such a flagrant breach of diplomatic protocol, I think I'm more than entitled to demand reparations from the Brotherhood of Steel.”

Maxson sighed.

“General, I think I know what you're about to ask.”

“Good,” she said crossly. “Then I'm sure you'll agree that this is how you're going to make up for allowing one of your idiot cultists to run loose and almost kill me! You're going to assemble all our brothers and sisters in Steel on the command deck and tell them that Danse is no longer a wanted man. You're going to grant him full and total amnesty, and then you're going to accept him back into the ranks and reinstate his entry in the Codex. That is, if he even _wants_ to return to the Brotherhood of Steel. After the way you've treated him, I can't say I'd blame him if he doesn't.”

“You're forgetting something, General,” Maxson told her. “Danse is a synth. He was a slave of the Institute, made to serve them. How can he possibly serve humanity when he's not even human?”

“Elder Maxson, are you familiar with the Codex?” said Margot, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” said Maxson, looking affronted. “Intimately.”

“And before there was a Codex, which document did your illustrious ancestor, Roger Maxson, hold most dear? Given that he was one of my contemporaries, I have good reason to believe that it was the U.S. Constitution. Its Articles and Amendments were the tenets by which he lived his life; the principles which he fought to uphold. Among their number was the Fourteenth Amendment, which granted American citizenship to former slaves and all persons living within the jurisdiction of the United States. It said that no state shall violate a citizen's privileges or immunities, nor deprive any person of life, liberty or property without due process of law, and that a state must not deny any person within its jurisdiction equal protection of the laws. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts is still a state, Elder Maxson, and it will not permit a former slave who spent his whole life on American soil to be denied citizenship - nor will it allow one of its citizens to be treated by the authorities as though he's not even a person.”

Maxson was staring at her as though she'd taken leave of her senses.

“How can a _thing_ be a person?”

“Oh, there are several legal precedents for that,” said Margot smugly. “Did you know that before the Great War, corporations and other legal entities could technically be considered persons in a court of law? I'm pretty sure they were _things_. Did you also know that several countries declared that great apes and other intelligent animals were officially “non-human persons”, and that we were having the same discussion about robots in the Supreme Court the day before the bombs fell, because a Mister Handy in the state of New Hampshire decided that it was sentient and wanted the right to vote? If all the great legal minds of the old world couldn't agree on what made a person a _person_ instead of just a thing, then who says you have the right to decide?”

“By that same reasoning, how do _you_ have the power to declare that Danse is a person?”

“I don't, any more than you do,” said Margot. “But he _is_. He eats, sleeps, breathes, hopes and dreams, and he cares about his brothers and sisters in Steel as deeply as any other person on this ship. He can't help the way he was made, Maxson. Nobody can. But what matters more than how he got here is how he chose to use the precious gift of life. He chose to spend it serving the Brotherhood, and humanity, because he believed it was the right thing to do. Did he make the right choice?”

“Of course he did,” said Maxson immediately. “Why would anyone in their right mind refuse to serve the Brotherhood of Steel?”

“Indeed. Which begs the question, why would you prevent a man who would gladly give his life for the Brotherhood of Steel, and the ideals which it represents, from serving us? Danse committed no crime by existing, and he did no wrong to you, or to any of his brothers and sisters in Steel. Why cast him out? Why not let him continue to serve with the Brotherhood?”

“How can he? He's not real – he's not _human_.”

“As Descartes so famously said, _cogito ergo sum_ – I think, therefore I am. Danse thinks, therefore he is. I think that's about as close as we can get to affirming the reality of our own existence. And what is it that makes us human? Flesh and blood? Our ideals? Our imperfections? The desire to rise above our limitations and become something greater? How about the capacity to love our fellow man, or our innate need to protect that which we hold most dear? Danse has all of those things in spades. Granted, he owes the fact of his existence to a laboratory, but so did many humans before the Great War. Parents who couldn't have children turned to medical science for assistance in bringing new life into the world. Were those children less than human because of the way they began their lives?”

“No, but - ”

“Because that's the only difference between you and him, Elder Maxson. Danse began his life in a lab, not in the womb, but his DNA is human. _He's_ human, in all the ways which matter. If I can see the humanity in him, why can't you?”

There was absolute silence in the sick bay. Everyone was staring at her.

“Take him back,” said Margot finally. “Allow him to re-enlist with the Brotherhood of Steel. If you don't, then I'll consider my request for reparations denied, and there will be no treaty. We'll all walk away, but none of us will gain anything, and we'll all lose a great deal. You're a smart man, Maxson, and an astute leader. Sleep on the decision if you have to, but I think you know what you have to do.”

She swung her legs off the gurney and hopped down, a little unsteadily.

“Now if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to get some real sleep. I don't think unconsciousness counts. Goodnight.”

Danse was compelled to follow her back to her quarters. Even if she'd allowed him to let go of her hand – she was dragging him along with her with the dogged determination of little Squire Woods, who refused to release her grip on things she loved – he would have followed her anywhere after that speech. She could have led him into the Glowing Sea and he would have accompanied her quite willingly, still awestruck. She'd almost lost her life, and her only thought had been to use it as an opportunity to stick up for him yet again _._

_And to think that I called her selfish. I'll never understand why she keeps sticking her neck out for me like this. I'm nothing special. Just a man... not even that. But then again, she'll wade through Hell and high water to help out complete strangers for no reward, and she'll do it twice over for her friends. If she was willing to find a synth body for a Miss Nanny robot who wanted to be human, and track down a Pre-War gangster so that the synth who calls himself Nick Valentine could lay the ghosts of his human predecessor's past to rest, then maybe I shouldn't be surprised that she'll keep looking out for a synth who thought he was a Brotherhood Paladin._

He almost smiled at that thought.

_Margot's an astonishing woman. She truly cares about her fellow man - even when her fellow man isn't human. Like Hancock. She travels with him, even though I swear the bastard's about to turn Feral. He has that odd look on his face... unless of course that's the drugs. What am I saying? Of course it's the drugs. That damn junkie Ghoul takes every chem known to man, sometimes all at once. I don't know what she sees in him. But then again, I don't really know what she sees in me either. Perhaps I shouldn't be so ready to throw stones. Glass houses haven't fared well in the apocalypse._

“Hey. _Hey._ ”

Danse blinked. They were standing in her quarters, with the door secured behind them. She'd let go of his hand at last. He'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't even noticed.

“You okay, Danse?”

Margot was giving him a quizzical look.

“I'm sorry – I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention,” he said. “Yes, I'm okay. Are you okay?”

This time she smiled, in a weary sort of way. Her eyes were sore, ringed with dark shadows and streaks of mascara.

“You mean _apart_ from almost falling hundreds of feet to a messy death? Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. Hell of a day we've had.”

Danse took Margot by the elbow and led her across the room before she could protest.

“Time for bed,” he told her. “Come on, soldier. You need to get some sleep.”

“What about you?” said Margot, in a low, sleepy voice. She pulled off her bloodstained overcoat, sat down on the end of the bed, and yawned widely as she kicked off her boots.

“I need sleep too,” said Danse. He reconsidered the statement. “Well, technically speaking, I suppose I _don't,_ but I don't seem to function as well without it. I lose focus and the headaches get worse.”

Margot looked up at him.

“But you're okay, right?”

“I'm fine. Your well-being is my primary concern.”

“I'm all right,” she insisted, as he watched her lie down and rest her head on her pillow. “Except... Danse, do you think Shaun's going to be okay? They're not going to hurt him, are they?”

“I doubt it. Sanctuary Hills is well-guarded and I doubt even the best Brotherhood soldiers could get past the defenses without being spotted. Do you remember the time I tried to sneak into town, to make sure the perimeter was properly secured and that Raiders wouldn't be able to creep in unnoticed?”

Margot laughed, a little drowsily.

“Yeah, I remember. You fell in the river trying to get across from the east side and almost set off a radiation trap when you climbed out again. I had to come and help you before you set off all the cryo mines too.”

Danse pulled a face at the memory.

“Not my finest hour, I'll admit. But at least we were able to ascertain that nobody could sneak in without the whole town knowing about it. Don't worry. Shaun will be fine. Codsworth and Dogmeat are there to protect him, and the other settlers won't allow any harm to befall him. They may not like synths much, but they seem to have made an exception in his case. The only way he could possibly be any safer would be if he was here with us.”

“Debatable, after this evening's events.”

“True... let me get you that blanket. You're still shivering.”

She was rubbing her arms, but she shook her head.

“I'm all right, Danse. I think it's just shock.”

“All the more important that you stay warm,” he persisted, and went to fetch the blanket from his cot. He came back with the bundle of thin cloth in his arms and drew it over her, tucking it under her chin.

“Thank you,” she said. “For the blanket. And for saving me.”

“Not a problem, soldier. Happy to do it.”

She snuggled down into the blanket. She looked smaller and more delicate now that she'd let down her guard at last. It was strange, thought Danse, how her bravado seemed to melt away in an instant when she felt safe. Of course, it made sense. Margot was from a world of picket fences, courtrooms, Nuka-Cola floats and sunny days at the ballpark; when it had all been blown to pieces and she'd woken up to a desolate nuclear wasteland filled with peril and political intrigue, she'd had no choice but to put on a brave face to cover up her terror, the way Pre-War women adorned themselves with rouge and foundation, and soldiers donned their armor for battle. With that outer layer of confidence to protect her from the outside world, she was a force of nature, practically bulletproof; without it, she was the same frightened, grieving widow and heartbroken mother who'd stumbled from Vault 111 into a daunting new environment, and who still occasionally hesitated when asking a settler to trade with her.

_Most people would never guess that underneath all the confidence and that wonderful way with words, she's as fragile as those porcelain vases she likes to collect. But she won't let anything break her, or stand in her way. And she does everything she can to protect other people from the kind of suffering she's already endured. I just wish I could do the same for her. I'd move heaven and earth to spare her another moment's sorrow._

“Danse?” he heard her say behind him, as he turned to cross the room and go back to his cot. “Please don't go.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Margot. Don't worry. I'll be right here.”

“Please,” she said again, more plaintively. “I don't want you to go. Will you stay with me? I feel safe when you're with me.”

Danse gave in. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand.

“Here I am,” he said quietly. “Now what?”

“Talk to me.”

He frowned.

“We're talking now, aren't we?”

“Yes, but... let's talk about something. Not what just happened. Something else.”

“Like what?”

Margot's nose wrinkled a little when she smiled. He'd never noticed that before, he thought, surprised. He wondered what else he might see in her face if he looked at her for long enough.

“Tell me a story,” she said unexpectedly. “One of your adventures from the Brotherhood.”

“Most of them aren't very exciting,” said Danse. “You know all about fighting Super Mutants and hunting for technology. I don't know why you'd want to hear about the same sort of thing you saw on patrol with me.”

“Then tell me about something else,” she said, with bright, eager eyes. “Like the Capital Wasteland. You were from there, right? I haven't seen D.C. since before the Great War. I'm guessing it's changed a lot since those days.”

Danse raised his eyebrows.

“More than you could imagine. The Jefferson Memorial is a gigantic water purification plant. Freed slaves live in the Lincoln Memorial. The Mall is a war zone with trenches as far as the eye can see, and most of the small towns which surrounded D.C. are completely gone. There's a settlement up on one of the highways which was supposed to have had a vampire problem at one point, but I think that settled down. Old Olney is probably still lousy with Deathclaws. We heard rumors of some sort of tree-worshiping cult up in the hills, but we were never able to find them. But I'm pleased to report that the Citadel is in good shape nowadays. I think you used to call it the Pentagon. Star Paladin Casdin is Maxson's seneschal there – he used to lead the Outcasts until they were brought back into the fold. Maxson put him in a position of trust as a demonstration of good faith to Casdin's men, and so far Casdin hasn't let him down. I doubt he ever will. He's a good man. More like the Brotherhood from back west than Elder Lyons or his daughter ever were.”

Margot looked curious at the mention of the Brotherhood's western chapter.

“Have you ever been out west? Nate and I always wanted to go to Vegas. We always said we'd do it for our seventh anniversary. Lucky seven. We never got that far.”

“No, I've always been stationed on the East Coast. But I've heard stories about Lost Hills, where Maxson was born. And some interesting rumors about the Mojave,” said Danse. When she looked at him, silently prompting him to elaborate, he continued:

“We have a chapter stationed out there in the desert. They holed up in an underground bunker after taking a beating from the NCR and went into lockdown for an extended period of time. They stuck very rigidly to the Brotherhood's traditions, but their numbers began to dwindle and they went into decline. And then one day, a stranger showed up from outside. A courier, from the west. She was sent to deliver something to Robert House in New Vegas, but she was intercepted and shot in the head by some casino boss on her way there. It ended a lot worse for the casino boss than for her. Last I heard, she was House's right-hand woman, controlling the whole city for him. She was successful in dissuading him from blowing up the Brotherhood bunker when he decided they were a threat to his plans, and encouraged him to make peace instead, much to everyone's relief. She even managed to talk the NCR and Caesar's Legion out of waging war over Hoover Dam, and got the casino families and various other factions eating out of her hand in the process. A truly formidable woman.”

“What's her name?”

“Most people call her the Courier. The Brotherhood knows her as Paladin Houshanou. We don't think it's her real name, but it's what the tribals called her after she survived being shot in the head and buried alive. Houshanou, the Spirit of the Wastes.”

“So she came back from the dead, hunted down her killer, and became queen of Sin City,” said Margot, impressed. “Wow. That's quite a story. Except Robert House can't possibly still be alive. He's from my time. Unless Vault-Tec froze him too... people used to joke he was richer than God, so I guess he could afford to have his own personal freezer setup. Or do you think he turned himself into a Ghoul, like Eddie Winter?”

Danse shrugged.

“Who knows? They could have put him in a Robobrain for all we know. Nobody from the Brotherhood has been able to confirm any sightings of him except Scribe Santangelo, and I hear she's a little... eccentric, even by Mojave Brotherhood standards. Elder Maxson once received an intelligence report from her and had to write back telling her that she'd spent too much time out in the sun. Something about a Vault full of killer plants and Ghouls trying to fly rockets to the moon. Outlandish nonsense.”

Margot laughed.

“I like her already. Maybe we'll meet her someday. Do you know any other interesting people in the Brotherhood? Any freaks, geeks or heroes of note? I bet you've met a couple of celebrities in the ranks...”

“Well, I knew Sarah Lyons before she succeeded her father as Elder,” Danse told her. “She was a Sentinel - the head of an elite unit called the Lyons' Pride. A very brave young woman. But her skill in combat wasn't enough to save her. She was killed in action shortly after becoming Elder. The official record states that she died in battle alongside her seneschal, Star Paladin Cross, but for some time after her death, rumors circulated that she'd been shot by some of her own men for continuing her father's policy of prioritizing humanitarian aid over the core principles of the Brotherhood.”

Margot shook her head slowly.

“So they fragged her. Is it me, or does the Brotherhood get some sort of kick out of disposing of its best and brightest? It seems to be becoming an unfortunate trend.”

“It was a very difficult time for the East Coast chapter,” said Danse carefully. “Owyn Lyons' death left a power vacuum which his daughter simply couldn't fill. The Outcasts were still threatening to return west and report us to Lost Hills as a rogue chapter. In the years following Sarah Lyons' death, we went through several Elders, none of them effective leaders. And then Maxson became old enough to be nominated as Elder. He took over, and the rest is history. Look where we are now.”

“Covered in the blood of someone who just tried to murder us in his name,” Margot commented. “I love happy endings, don't you?”

Danse looked at her, slightly irritated.

“I thought you said you didn't want to talk about what just happened?”

“I don't,” said Margot, with feeling. “Tell me about something else. Tell me a story about you.”

“You wouldn't want to know about me,” said Danse, suddenly dejected. “What's to tell, anyway? Most of the things that happened to me before I joined the Brotherhood didn't happen to me at all. And I already told you about what happened to my squad. What happened to Cutler.”

“Tell me about you and him. He was your best friend, right?”

Danse grimaced, and shifted position.

“Yes, he was. But that's a sad story.”

Margot's eyes softened.

“Oh, Danse. It seems like all the stories about you are sad. I'm sorry for asking - if you don't want to talk about him, I understand.”

To her surprise, Danse shook his head.

“No, it's all right. It's nice to have someone to talk to about this. I was always worried that people might think less of me if I opened up about the incident. Of course, I told everyone what happened to Cutler after his - well, his transformation. But I never told anybody what happened before that.”

Margot frowned.

“What do you mean, what happened _before_?”

He looked at her with a tortured expression.

“Margot, it was my fault he died.”

Margot's eyes opened wide with alarm.

“Danse, don't say that! He was taken by Super Mutants and they turned him into one of them. That wasn't your fault.”

“But it was!” he burst out. “It was all my fault. Cutler was my best friend. We joined up together and we always fought side by side. He and I used to guard Galaxy News Radio and snipe at mutants; when we went out on patrol, we used to talk our CO into letting us go out together. We took care of each other. Watched each other's backs.”

“What was he like?”

Danse smiled a little at the recollection.

“Cutler was a great guy. Blond, clean-cut, handsome. All the girls loved him. He was charming, and confident. He was a damn good marksman - you should have seen him with a sniper rifle. And he never balked at taking the dangerous missions. He was always the first one to rush into battle, no matter what we were fighting. There wasn't a braver man to be found in the Brotherhood.”

“Sounds like you admired him.”

“I did,” Danse confessed. “Before I settled in Rivet City, I had nothing and nobody. But then I ran into Cutler and everything changed. We started talking one day, became friends, and suddenly I had someone in my life who cared about me. You can't imagine what that meant to someone who grew up alone. Having a friend at last, someone I could be close to, and rely on... Chris and I were like brothers, even before the Brotherhood. We went everywhere together. The one time we didn't - ”

He stopped.

“We were out on patrol one day. He was laughing and joking, the way he always did. But when we got out of sight of the Citadel and the _Prydwen_ , he said something that caught me off guard. He wasn't exactly the serious type – always kidding around and chasing after girls. I thought he was just messing with me at first, but he was serious.”

“What did he say?”

Danse swallowed.

“He... he told me that he loved me.”

“Of course he did,” said Margot sympathetically. “You were his best friend. His brother. His _family._ ”

Danse shook his head.

“No, you don't understand. He said that he was _in love_ with me. That he'd been fighting with it, but that he couldn't hide it any longer. He told me that he never wanted to be apart from me, and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life fighting by my side. He – he tried to kiss me.”

“Oh,” said Margot softly, in spite of her shock. “You didn't want him to?”

“While the Brotherhood of Steel didn't exactly prohibit relationships of that nature outright, they were strongly discouraged," Danse said awkwardly. "Members of the Brotherhood are supposed to make weapons, armor, tech, one hell of a mess of mutant scum, and more members of the Brotherhood. That's what we _do -_ but that wasn't why I turned him down. As far as I was concerned, Cutler was family. The brother I'd never had. And all of a sudden he was talking about these _feelings_ which I couldn't return; feelings which just weren't there. I did my best to let him down gently, but he kept saying that he couldn't live without me... I didn't know what to do.”

“What happened?”

“In the end, I told him that I needed some time and space to think about what he'd told me. He said he understood, and that he'd take an assignment with another squad while I thought about it. He was out for about a week on long-range recon, west of Arefu. When he came back, he told me that he'd missed me, and that he wanted me to come with him on the next scouting run. I... Margot, it sounds stupid now that I think back on it, but I was _scared_. Cutler was my friend; the only one I'd ever had. Even though I knew things could never go back to the way they'd been before, I didn't want to lose him completely. I kept thinking that there had to be something I could do to remedy the situation. Some words I could say which would make him understand, without causing him pain.”

He paused.

“The morning we were supposed to head out, I - I panicked. I feigned illness and told our CO I'd been up all night with radiation poisoning. They hooked me up to some RadAway I didn't even need, and Cutler and his squad went out without me. I told myself that it would be okay, that I just needed a little more time to find the right words, and that I'd tell him later that I only wanted to be friends. But there was no later. He never came back. The damn mutants got him and turned him into one of them.”

“You didn't know, Danse. You couldn't have known,” she told him, as he looked away.

“Chris was my _brother_. I should have been there to protect him,” said Danse. He was staring at the far wall. The look on his face was one of profound anguish. “Instead, I let him go out there to his death. I was too cowardly to deal with the way he felt about me. It should have been me who paid the price for that, not him.”

“And if you'd gone out on patrol with him, what difference would it have made?” said Margot. “The Super Mutants would just have taken you along with the others. If the FEV hadn't turned you into one of them, they would have killed you instead. _Eaten_ you.”

Danse looked wretched.

“Maybe. I'll never know. If I'd only been strong enough to be there for him and tell him the truth about how I felt – or even if I'd just lied and said I loved him too, to spare his feelings – then things might have ended differently. Instead, I had to put three bullets in his head and take his holotags back to the Citadel. When I reported his death to his sister back in Rivet City, she couldn't even look at me. I don't blame her. If it weren't for my cowardice - ”

Margot sat up in bed, and laid her other hand on his arm.

“Danse,” she said quietly, when he turned to look at her. “You're not a coward. You had no way of knowing what Cutler was about to walk into. It was a scouting mission, not seek-and-destroy. For all you knew, he was going to come home, and by then you would have found the words you were looking for.”

“I suppose you're right,” Danse said, with some reluctance. “But it doesn't make me feel any better. If I'd just told him – or even tried to go along with it for a while, for his sake – ”

“You had every right to turn him down, Danse,” Margot interrupted him. “Nobody should enter into a relationship out of guilt, or because they feel obligated in some way to the other person. That sort of thing used to be a big problem in the Pre-War military. The sexual harassment lawsuits got so bad that the Army brought in a policy saying that you had to ask someone if you could display affection toward them. Even if you were _married_ to them.”

The accompanying ad campaign had been called _Love Asks Permission_ , she recalled dimly. The propaganda posters reminding soldiers that they had to seek their partner's consent for any kind of romantic overture, including flirting and hand-holding, had been cringe-inducingly awful, almost beyond parody. Nate had ridiculed the new regulations relentlessly; she still remembered the way he used to say _“Mrs. de Havilland, do you wish to engage in sexual intercourse and do I have your consent to proceed?”_ in a dull, emotionless drone, maintaining his best poker face, before they both burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all and fell into bed together.

“Come on, don't beat yourself up about it,” she continued, when Danse's expression didn't change. “You did everything you could. You braved the wastes and fought off Super Mutants to try and rescue Cutler and bring him home. He couldn't have asked for a more devoted friend and brother. You didn't let him down.”

He looked at her with dark, regretful eyes.

“You really think so?”

“I do,” Margot said sincerely. “You couldn't help the way you felt, any more than Cutler could help the way _he_ felt, but you tried to do right by him. Please don't blame yourself for what happened. Like I said, even if you'd gone out with his squad, it wouldn't have changed anything. He would still have been captured and turned into a Super Mutant, and you'd be dead too. But you're here. And thank God for that, because if you hadn't been here tonight, there would have been nobody to pull me back onto the _Prydwen_ , and our brothers and sisters in Steel would be scraping me off the runway right about now.”

“If I weren't here, Margot, you would never have been on the _Prydwen_ in the first place.”

Margot raised her hand to his face and touched his cheek.

“If you weren't here, Danse, I don't know what I'd do. You've always been there for me when I needed you.”

“Not always,” said Danse. He glanced down at her stomach. “Margot, I'm sorry about your baby. I wish there was more I could have done to protect you both.”

“You couldn't have changed anything,” she said, sighing. “It was just one of those things. Like Cutler. Like Nate and Shaun. Sometimes there's nothing we can do, no matter how hard we try. Call it fate, or destiny, or plain bad luck, but when we find ourselves caught up in circumstances beyond our control, all we can do is our best. You know who taught me that?”

“Your husband?”

Margot smiled.

“No. It was someone else. Someone I've always looked up to. He looks a little gruff on the outside, but he's brave, selfless and kind, and he taught me what it truly means to serve with honor. I think you know what his name is.”

“I'm pretty sure I never said those words, soldier,” Danse said, coloring slightly, but in a happy way. He was starting to smile.

Margot's hand was still resting against his face, and now she found herself stroking his cheek, very lightly. She waited for him to draw back from her, or pull away, but he didn't. He was gazing into her eyes, and she found herself gazing right back into his. Gentle brown eyes, filled with sadness. It was hard to look away.

When she glanced down again, her eyes were somehow drawn to his lips, and she felt the same sensation which had brought them together on the bridge. It tugged at her like the attraction of magnets and the pull of gravity; something as graceful as the silent alignment of stars and planets in the sky, but with all the insistent hunger of a black hole. A force far too strong to escape, and much too sweet to ignore.

“You didn't have to,” she whispered.

The air between them tasted like electricity and fire. Her lips ached. She wondered if this was what Danse was feeling right now; if he, too, silently yearned to close the distance between them and draw her into a passionate kiss. She tried leaning a little closer, and felt her heart soar when he did the same. She saw him close his eyes and bring his mouth toward hers -

A knock at the door interrupted them. It took Margot all of her self-control not to let frustration hiss between her teeth.

“ _General? Are you okay?”_

 _Damn it, Preston!_ she wanted to scream at him. _Why are you disturbing me? I'm fine! Or at least I would be, if you didn't keep doing things like this! You're the nicest guy in the world and I'm glad you care enough to check on me, but please just go the fuck away and leave me alone! Not all situations require Minutemen intervention!_

“She's fine, Colonel,” Danse called back, perhaps sensing that Margot was on the verge of spitting out the kind of invective which could have burned a hole through the door. “She's trying to sleep. Please don't disturb her.”

“ _Okay, Captain. Just wanted to make sure she was doing all right. I'm going to bed. Goodnight.”_

“Goodnight, sir.”

Margot wanted to cry with disappointment. The distraction had pulled Danse away from her. She thought desperately about grabbing at his bloodstained shirt and kissing him anyway, but the moment was gone; it seemed to have fled down the corridor with her second-in-command.

_I swear to God, Preston does this on purpose. Maybe it's for the best, though... I don't think Nate would ever forgive me if I let someone else take his place in my life._

_Nate_ , she thought, biting her lip. How could she ever have forgotten about her husband? Was what they'd shared so ephemeral that one near-kiss could cut through all her memories of him, as if he'd never existed? Suddenly she felt ashamed of herself for wanting Danse. And yet Codsworth had earnestly told her that Nate wouldn't have minded her falling in love again after his death, and he'd come close to implying that that was what Nate would have wanted. Was that true? What was she supposed to do?

“You should get some sleep,” Danse murmured. “It's late. You look exhausted.”

“I am,” said Margot, although she hated herself for the admission. It was like admitting defeat, and surrender. In spite of herself, and the lingering memory of Nate, she wasn't sure she wanted to let go of Danse quite yet.

“I should let you get some rest,” said Danse. He tried to get up, but sat down again with a start when she pulled him back.

“No... please. Stay here.”

“I need to sleep too, Margot,” he reminded her.

“You don't have to go over there to sleep. Stay here with me. Please?”

Danse looked at her in consternation.

“Soldier, I'm not sure that's appropriate. And I don't think there's room.”

Margot shifted to the edge of the bed to make more space, and lay down.

“There,” she said, pleased with her efforts. She patted the mattress beside her. “Plenty of room. Now you can stay.”

A host of conflicting emotions battled for control of Danse's face. Sharing a bed was occasionally necessary out in the field, but Brotherhood soldiers were expected to be professional about it, and to avoid the situation if at all possible. The only acceptable reason to curl up to your commanding officer was to shield them from the effects of hypothermia. And yet his old bed was more comfortable than the cot he'd been issued with, and it wasn't the first time he and Margot had fallen asleep side by side. He remembered the couch in the Minutemen barracks and how he'd woken up with her arm across him, and her hand in his. Before his training had kicked in again and reminded him that he should be horrified by his lapse in proper conduct, he'd felt content in her company. Her warm, reassuring presence and the intimacy of shared sleep were things he still lay awake and thought about, a little guiltily, in the dead of night.

When Margot brought about a clash between professionalism and human feelings, there could be only one victor. As usual, it was Margot. Resigned to his fate, Danse kicked off his boots and swung his legs onto the bed.

“All right,” he sighed, as he lay down next to her. “If it truly makes you feel better, then I'll stay right here. But we shouldn't make a habit of this. People might talk.”

“Let them,” Margot said carelessly, rolling over onto her side. “I don't care.”

“I do,” said Danse, shifting position. There was rather less room than Margot had claimed; they were both perilously close to their respective edges of the mattress. He put his arms around her waist - as gallantly as he could in the circumstances - and held onto her so that neither of them could fall out of bed. “I'm supposed to be an officer. And you're my superior officer. I don't want people to think less of either of us because of our conduct. I'd be doing you a disservice if I allowed that to happen.”

Margot turned over in his arms and smiled at him.

“Did I ever tell you you're a sweetheart, Danse?”

“Not that I recall, no.”

“Well, you are.”

She adjusted the blanket so that it covered Danse as well, then kissed him on the forehead.

“Goodnight.”

She closed her eyes and settled down. A few moments later, she was asleep, breathing softly. Danse heard her murmur something unintelligible.

“Goodnight, Margot,” he said at last, and tried to sleep. It was difficult, when he wanted with all his heart to stay awake and keep watch over her, but he knew he couldn't protect her if he was worn out from lack of sleep. She was safe in his arms; fast asleep and probably already dreaming up new ways to raise hell with Maxson in the morning, all with the most innocent of expressions on her lovely face.

_She's like a Mini Nuke. Innocuous enough at first glance - so small and cute that you wonder how she could possibly be a menace to society - but she has the power to send everyone running for cover when she goes off. And someone just tried to drop her over the Commonwealth. Well, if anyone messes with her again, the end of the world will only be the start of their problems. They'll have me to deal with, and I won't be as nice as that purported one-man apocalypse, Colonel Garvey..._

He found himself smiling, both at the memory of Margot kissing his forehead, and at the idea of mild-mannered Preston going berserk and laying waste to anything. They were his last thoughts before he closed his eyes and let the urge to sleep take over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the Vertibirds - I noticed a reference on one of the Prydwen terminals to two named Vertibirds, the Vorpal and Spatha. Some reading indicated that the names were derived from names/types of swords (the former is from Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky"; the latter is a type of Roman longsword, used in war and gladiatorial combat from the years 1-6 AD). In keeping with the theme, Maxson's personal Vertibird is Excalibur, the legendary sword wielded by King Arthur (what else?), while others are the Sagitta ("Arrow") and the Sarissa (a long spear or pike of Ancient Greek origin). There are other named Vertibirds in this story, more of which later. I decided to give each one a Latin motto because it just seemed like something the Brotherhood of Steel would do, much in the same manner that real-life air force squadrons around the world have their own mottos. (Somehow I didn't think Elder Maxson would approve of the WWII-style pin-up girls which used to adorn military aircraft... although he might be persuaded to make some exceptions. Who knows.)


	8. Rebuild, Renew

Danse emerged gradually from a dream of domestic bliss. There had been white picket fences and cupcakes, a smiling wife, and the sound of a small girl's laughter out in the yard. No bombs had dropped; no Raiders or Radscorpions had crawled up the street to lay waste to everything. The sun had been shining, and the little girl had run into the house and asked her to play with him, leading him away from the news and the next episode of _The Adventures of Captain Cosmos,_ chattering about her favorite toys as they walked, hand in hand, out into the sunshine.

 _Emily_ , he remembered, on waking. _Her name was Emily. She looked just like me._

And then it was all gone. The dream faded, leaving only a few confused fragments of imagery behind. Pre-War peonies on the table, their pink petals bright. A cat curled up next to a baby's crib, in a house with blue walls. A Ghoul reading the weather forecast from behind a dusty television screen, while a man in Raider armor clamored for him to hurry up, so they could do the sports. Things which couldn't have happened, and weren't possible.

Margot was lying next to him, still asleep. She was close to him – so close. The scent of her hair was intoxicating. Flowers, perfume and Gum Drops, marred only by the unpleasant metallic overtone of blood; her shirt was still spattered with the stuff, although the crimson had now dried to a muted brown. Her eyeshadow and mascara were a catastrophe of smudged black, her hair was rumpled, and she'd managed to smear some of her lipstick on her pillow.

He'd been aware that Margot was a restless sleeper. During their travels together, he'd always volunteered to keep first watch over their camp at night, and he'd often noticed the way she tossed and turned, mumbling inaudibly to herself. However, he hadn't known quite how restlessly she slept until he found himself in close proximity to her. The blanket was lying in a heap on the floor, and she'd managed to wriggle almost right out of his arms.

Almost. His right hand was still resting on her hip, tantalizingly close to the top of her thigh. His head suddenly seemed too full, overloaded with thoughts of things which he didn't dare hope for. Thoughts of letting his hand wander down to brush against her leg, just a little. Smudging her lipstick a little more as he woke her up with a kiss and rolled her back into his arms. Whispering in her ear that he loved her, and wanted her. He imagined exchanged kisses and the warmth of her bare skin against his, and briefly wondered if he was running a fever.

 _Just the early morning testosterone talking, soldier,_ his training reminded him. _Get up and have a cold shower. Fifty pushups. That should take your mind off things._

 _The hell with that,_ the rest of him decided. Even if he hadn't promised to stay close to Margot, nothing on earth could have persuaded him to pull himself away from her side. He snuggled up closer to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and breathing in the sweet smell of her hair. He heard her sigh quietly and mutter something in her sleep.

_If it weren't for all the bloodstains, this would be heaven. I hope her late husband knew how fortunate he was... if I could wake up next to Margot every day for the rest of my life, I'd die a happy man._

Without any warning, Margot sat up and screamed. Not with fear, but with fury; her expression was something he might have expected to see on a savage dog out in the wastes, not on the face of a human being.

“Kellogg! You're a dead man!” she snarled, launching herself out of bed and knocking Danse backward over the edge of the mattress. He cried out in surprise as he landed on the floor, but she didn't seem to notice; she was looking around the room in a frenzy, eyes wild with hatred. “Where did you take Shaun? _Where is he?_ I'm going to fuck you up, you son of a – ”

Reality reasserted itself, somewhere in her head; the primal rage dissipated in an instant and her eyes focused again. She blinked a few times and looked around, as if she wasn't sure what had just happened.

“Danse?” she said faintly. “What – oh. Was it just a nightmare? I dreamed Kellogg took Shaun and he was going to throw him off the _Prydwen_. But that's not possible. He's dead, isn't he? I killed him... Kellogg's dead, and Shaun's safe at home.”

She breathed out, but puzzlement quickly replaced relief.

“Why are you on the floor?”

Her other friends would have said something snappy, Danse reflected. Piper would have said something like _“You just have that effect on people, Blue”_ , and Deacon might have just grinned and said _“Wouldn't you like to know? Sorry, state secret. I'm not at liberty to discuss it...”_

He tried to think of something clever or witty to say, but drew a blank.

“Uh...”

“I hope that wasn't me,” Margot said at last. She looked down at the floor. “Sorry. Even by usual nightmare standards, that was pretty intense. For a second I really thought he was in here with us. Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No, I'm fine.”

He got up before she could extend a hand to help him, and dusted off his clothes. The blood on the knees of his jeans wasn't his. Cutting throats was a messy business, and not one he'd ever taken any pleasure in. He'd always tried to avoid it in favor of more direct confrontations; he'd forgotten just how much blood the act produced, and how it went everywhere.

Margot seemed to have noticed too.

“Laundry day's going to be hell, isn't it? I'm not sure if there's enough Abraxo in the world,” she observed, looking ruefully down at her own clothes. “This was my best shirt, too. Codsworth's going to kill me.”

“You should probably change before we pay a visit to Elder Maxson,” Danse advised. “You can't go into a diplomatic meeting covered in blood. It doesn't send out the right message.”

Margot smirked.

“I'm not so sure about that. The sheer intimidation value of strolling into the room, covered in other people's blood... all those horrified expressions... I bet Maxson would give us whatever we wanted if we promised to go away and leave his faction alone.”

“If you think Arthur Maxson is intimidated by the sight of a little blood, soldier, I'd advise you to think again,” Danse warned her. “He's no stranger to the battlefield. He's probably seen more bloodshed than you and I have in both our lifetimes.”

Margot looked thoughtful.

“I wonder if he's actually the original Roger Maxson and he gained eternal youth by bathing in the blood of his enemies? Maybe he just pretends that he's his own son, or grandson, or great-grandson, and changes his name every generation so that people don't suspect anything. Like Jack Cabot. All that talk about finding the idea of being an immortal, invincible demigod distasteful is just to throw us off the scent.”

Danse rolled his eyes.

“Margot, that's ridiculous. You've been reading too many comic books.”

“Says the guy who reads _Astoundingly Awesome Tales_ every chance he gets,” Margot teased him. “Don't tell me you never wondered why they made him an Elder so young? It's because he's got hundreds of years of life experience, like me!”

“It's _because_ the Maxson family name is legendary,” Danse corrected her. “The Maxsons have always been prime examples of our military might and ideals, and Arthur Maxson is no exception. It has nothing to do with being a vampire, or – or whatever it is you're suggesting. Besides, that's impossible. I knew him when he was just a Squire. If he was secretly hundreds of years old, I think I would have noticed.”

Margot seemed intrigued.

“What was Maxson like when he was a kid? Was he some sort of child prodigy, like everyone seems to imply he was, or just some brat who got talked up because of his last name?”

“Arthur? No. He was an ordinary child, like the other Squires. He was quiet and studious. He liked to read. Rather shy, as I recall; he seemed a little embarrassed by all the attention they lavished on him in the Citadel. But Sentinel Lyons took him under her wing and taught him everything she knew. By his early teens, he was fighting Deathclaws and Super Mutants. Once he'd been properly trained, he excelled in almost every field.”

Margot raised her eyebrows.

“Almost? You mean he has _failings?_ Don't say that in front of Proctor Quinlan, he'll have an aneurysm.”

“Let's just say that he's more used to shedding blood than keeping it in the body,” Danse confided in her. “He had to take the basic field medicine examination five times before he was allowed to continue his training. But, uh, don't tell anyone I told you that.”

Margot looked as though she wanted to burst out laughing, but she didn't. She nodded instead.

“It's all right. Nobody's perfect.”

“Not even you?” he said, unable to resist the dig.

She seemed amused by the notion.

“Much as I'd love to claim otherwise, no, not even me. I drink too much, I don't think enough before opening my big mouth, and sometimes I like messing with people just to watch them yell. At least two of those traits almost got me thrown overboard last night, which is probably a sign that I need to take things down a notch.”

“Does that mean you're going to apologize to Elder Maxson for the way you've been behaving around him?”

She made a face.

“Honestly, I'm not sure. I'll have to page Kellogg in Hell and ask him if they've checked the thermostat today. See if it's stuck on freezing yet.”

 _Kellogg_ , thought Danse, as he watched her rummage inside one of the open lockers. He'd heard a great deal about the man who'd murdered Nathan de Havilland and stolen baby Shaun from his father's arms. He'd even seen a picture of the man in the intelligence files which the Brotherhood of Steel had kept on known Institute personnel. He remembered the image of a bald, scarred mercenary, apparently middle-aged; the expression on the man's face had been bored, cruel, malevolent. Danse hadn't been there when Margot had exacted bloody revenge on her husband's killer – Nick Valentine, who'd helped her track the man down from Diamond City, had had the dubious privilege of watching Conrad Kellogg die – but although she professed not to care about the incident, it clearly still played on her mind. She'd admitted once, late at night, across a campfire, that while she didn't regret killing Kellogg, it hadn't really helped matters much:

“ _Shaun's still missing. Nate's still dead. The Memory Den and that component in Kellogg's head took me a little closer to understanding why anyone would have hurt my Nate and stolen our baby, but was I supposed to feel sorry for someone who became the very thing he despised? What, Kellogg lost his family, so I had to lose mine? Fuck that guy. I'm glad he's dead, and I'd do it again. I just wish killing him had felt like more of a resolution. I thought that once he was dead, I'd find some peace. But I feel just as empty and angry as I did before he died, and I keep hearing his voice in my dreams... seeing his face... sometimes I wonder if it will ever end.”_

Danse knew only too well how that felt, although the emotion which underpinned his worst nightmares wasn't grief and rage, but guilt. Sometimes he saw the ghosts of all the Raiders, Gunners and Talon Company mercenaries he'd shot down during missions, and the faces of the brothers and sisters he hadn't been able to save. For weeks after Cutler's death, he'd seen his best friend's face every time he closed his eyes. Cold, dead, accusing; human at first, and then the face would contort and take on the disgruntled expression of a green-skinned Super Mutant, still wearing the rags of a Brotherhood jumpsuit and fragments of broken combat armor:

_You were my brother in Steel. You should have been there to fight for me. But you weren't, and I died. Why didn't you save me?_

Danse closed his eyes. He still remembered digging that grave by the waterfront. It had been much bigger than usual, to accommodate the massive bulk of a Super Mutant which had once been a Brotherhood Knight. His squadmates had tried to dissuade him from doing it, but he'd pushed them aside every time they attempted to drag him away.

“ _No!”_ he'd snarled at them. “ _Cutler was my brother! I'm not leaving him like that!”_

Margot had asked him once why burying the dead was of such importance to him. She'd observed that the Commonwealth was littered with bones and that the dead were past caring what had happened to their mortal remains, but he'd told her the reason:

“ _In the Brotherhood of Steel, we bury our dead. If there's not enough left of them to bury, or if they've requested repatriation to the Capital Wasteland in the event of their death, we cremate them and send their ashes home to their next of kin, or to the Citadel. When one of our soldiers falls in battle, we do whatever we can to recover their remains. It can be a difficult process and a lot of wastelanders wonder why we go to the trouble at all. We do it because it separates us from the Raiders and scavvers and filthy cannibals who don't give a damn about mourning their dead. Unlike them, we treat our fallen brethren with care and respect.”_

“ _But why the people in bombed-out buildings? They aren't members of the Brotherhood. They're mostly Pre-War, and they've been dead for centuries. What difference does it make to the Brotherhood what happens to their remains?”_ Margot had replied, with unusual bluntness for someone normally so full of warmth and compassion.

“ _I'm not sure whether I'm failing to express myself clearly, or whether you're simply missing the point, soldier,”_ he'd said, frowning at her. “ _Those skeletons you find in old buildings? They were human beings. Someone's husband, father, or son. A wife, or daughter, or sister. It doesn't matter if we didn't know them in life. They were our fellow man, and they deserve dignity in death.”_

Margot had afforded Kellogg no such dignity. She'd shot him dead, beaten his corpse to a pulp _post-mortem,_ and left his remains to rot in an abandoned building at Fort Hagen. Danse had refused to condone her treatment of a fallen foe, although he suspected that Kellogg had barely qualified as human even before the Institute had fitted him with a multitude of cybernetic implants. The idea shouldn't have bothered him so much; after all, Kellogg was little better than a Raider. The man had murdered a defenseless, disoriented war hero without remorse and kidnapped the child in his arms. He'd peered into Margot's cryopod and _smirked_ at her grief, then he'd frozen her and left her in limbo, forcing her to sleep away the decades while her child grew up without her. If anyone had been undeserving of eternal rest, it was Kellogg. And yet Margot seemed to be the one who couldn't rest easily. Even after all the time which had passed between then and now, the mercenary's face still haunted her dreams.

Danse thought of indistinct faces, and the little girl from his dream. Her face had seemed as familiar to him as his own, but now that he tried to recall her features, or even the sound of her voice, he found that he couldn't. All he could remember was her name, and that she'd been important to him in some way. Everything else was a mystery, shrouded in the shadows of sleep.

“Margot?” he said out loud. “Does the name Emily mean anything to you?”

Margot emerged from the depths of the locker to look at him. She seemed taken aback by the question; she considered it, then shook her head.

“No. I can't say that it does. Why do you ask?”

Danse opened his mouth to answer, but the words wouldn't come out. He closed his mouth again and looked away. What did it matter anyway? If there had been a real Danse and he'd ended his life screaming in the Institute's basement, it seemed spectacularly crass to seek out any family the man might have had. What was he supposed to tell them, even if they could be found? He couldn't replace the loved one they'd lost, or even begin to apologize for what had happened to the real Danse. But Margot had assured him that there hadn't been a real Danse; that as far as she'd been able to determine, he'd been designed from scratch and not to replace an actual human being. If that was true, then the softly-smiling wife and the little girl were merely the figments of a synthetic imagination - they'd never existed, and never would. Either way, the life he'd lived in that dream was nothing more than fleeting fantasy, as far out of reach as the surface of the moon.

“Nothing,” he said at last. “It was just a dream. It wasn't real.”

“Head out of the clouds then, soldier. We've got work to do. Here, catch.”

She threw something at his head. By instinct, Danse caught it and felt cloth fold around his hands. It was a Brotherhood uniform jumpsuit, in officer's black. He'd rarely worn it, preferring the orange-and-gray version worn by pilots and Power Armor users. That was common practice among his fellow Paladins, who treated their officer's black as a _de facto_ dress uniform – none of them had really liked to wear the same color as Elder Maxson, even if their rank entitled them to do so. Only Paladin Brandis still wore officer's black out in the field, and nobody really begrudged the old man the strict adherence to regulations which had kept him sane while stranded in the wilderness.

“You kept my old uniforms?” he said, dumbfounded. “Really? Why?”

“Just in case,” she said. She took out an identical black uniform in a smaller size. “I had a feeling you might make use of them again one day. Now hurry up and get changed, so we can go meet with Maxson and get this treaty business over with.”

Danse shook his head.

“I can't. I'm not entitled to wear this uniform, Margot. It belongs to an officer of the Brotherhood of Steel. Impersonating a senior officer, or claiming any rank to which you're not entitled, is strictly forbidden.”

“Danse, the alternative is walking around the ship in your underwear, or covered in blood,” Margot said sternly. “I think Maxson would object to both of those options a _little_ more strongly than he would a borrowed uniform from your commanding officer. You don't want to go to a diplomatic function in inappropriate attire, do you, soldier?”

Danse looked at her, mortified.

“This _is_ inappropriate attire. I'm no longer part of the Brotherhood of Steel and have no right to wear a Paladin's uniform. It's absolutely out of the question.”

Margot slammed the locker door shut and glared at him.

“Danse, you need clean clothes. These are clothes, and they're clean. Do _not_ make me order you to get changed. I will if I have to. I'm in charge here, remember?”

Danse relented. He couldn't argue with his commanding officer when orders were involved.

“Whatever you say, General.”

“Damn straight.”

They changed in opposite corners of the room, with their backs turned to each other.

“This feels wrong,” Danse complained, as he took off the bloodstained shirt and jeans and struggled into the black jumpsuit. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd worn it. The fabric hadn't had the opportunity to stretch with daily wear, and felt stiff and uncomfortable around his legs.

“I know,” said Margot, with rather more sympathy. She threw aside her blood-spattered shirt and pants, and reached for her uniform. “I'm sorry, Danse. But I don't have any other clothes in your size here, so you'll just have to make do with the resources we have available. Like you said, we can't show up for peaceful negotiations looking like we've slaughtered our way onto the _Prydwen_. Think how disappointed Preston would be if we failed to represent the Minutemen in an appropriate manner.”

“And wearing the uniforms of the very faction we're supposed to be negotiating with is appropriate... how, exactly?”

Margot just laughed as she pulled the jumpsuit past her hips.

“It isn't, but I _am_ a Paladin and I needed a change of clothes, so nobody can object too hard. And you're only doing it because I ordered you to. If anyone asks, I'll be sure to tell them that you complied with my orders under protest. Fair?”

“I suppose I don't really have any other option,” Danse said grudgingly. “I just wish you'd stop getting me into these kinds of situations. So far I've trespassed on Brotherhood property, accidentally taken a hostage, killed a man, climbed into bed with my superior officer, and now – well, this! Things like this never used to happen to me before I started traveling with you.”

He heard Margot sigh behind him.

“I'm sorry, Danse,” she said. “I never intended for any of this to happen. All I wanted was to find my family and go home again. Instead I ended up changing the face of the Commonwealth forever and messing things up for you along the way. If you're tired of all my bullshit and want to leave, then I won't stand in your way.”

“You appear to be working under the assumption that I'm here under duress,” Danse said impatiently. He adjusted the fabric near his elbow. “I'm not. I'll admit that when I first agreed to accompany you on your travels through the Commonwealth, I could never have envisioned what I was really signing up for. But now that I'm here, I'm not leaving. Not unless you want me to.”

“I don't,” Margot said instantly. “I wasn't lying when I said I felt better whenever you're near me. I'd understand if you ever wanted to leave, but... hell, I know it sounds selfish, but I really hope you don't. I'd miss you too much if you weren't there.”

Danse exhaled loudly, and fastened the front of his jumpsuit.

“For the last time, Margot, I'm not going anywhere. I'm here because I want to be. I just wish you could ease up once in a while. You don't have to wage all-out war on _everything_ you meet.”

“I never thought I'd ever hear you say that, Danse,” she joked. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I'm fine. Thank you for asking,” he replied politely. “Look, don't get me wrong – you know that I'm always ready to bring the fight to our enemies. But you need to start picking your battles more wisely. All this business with mouthing off at Elder Maxson every chance you get... that has to stop. He isn't the enemy in all this. He did what he had to do, and you know perfectly well why.”

Margot made a disgusted noise.

“Well, he didn't have to be such a heartless bastard about it. Look, Danse, I find it pretty hard to be civil to Maxson after what he asked me to do to you. If anyone else asked me to play nice with the guy who put a death sentence on your head, I'd tell them _exactly_ where to go and what to do when they got there. But since it's you doing the asking, then I'll try, okay? For you.”

“Thank you,” said Danse, relieved. “That's all I needed to hear.”

“But if Maxson doesn't reinstate you into the Brotherhood of Steel, I'm allowed to punch him in the face and steal that coat of his. Deal?”

Danse gasped.

“Absolutely not, soldier! Why would you ever contemplate - ”

Margot snickered.

“I'm kidding. I promise to be on my best behavior. On my honor as a Paladin.”

“Your word is your bond?” he said warily.

“My bond is Steel,” she replied. “You can turn around now. I'm dressed.”

Danse turned round, a little nervously. To his simultaneous relief and slight disappointment, Margot was indeed fully clothed. The black military jumpsuit looked good on that slender figure, lovingly embracing the curves of her waist and hips; he was starting to wish that he hadn't fastened his collar quite so tightly.

“How do I look?” she asked.

He was trying not to pay too much attention. It was impossible. He smiled weakly and gave her a thumbs-up.

“Outstanding.”

Margot grinned.

“Thanks. You too. You should wear black more often.”

Danse looked a little flustered at the compliment, she thought. She tried not to look him up and down too brazenly. He really did look good in black; handsome and muscular, although the uniform looked a little tight around the shoulders and upper arms, and he seemed ill at ease with the fact that he was wearing it at all.

“I still don't like this,” he said reluctantly. “Do you have a jacket I could borrow? I don't think I should make it too obvious that I'm wearing Brotherhood gear. There will almost certainly be objections.”

“Sure. I think your old bomber jacket's hanging up in one of the lockers. Help yourself. You might as well, because it sure as hell won't fit me.”

Margot put her combat armor on over the top of the jumpsuit, fastening the straps which held it in place, then donned her General's overcoat – her shirt had mercifully borne the brunt of the bloodshed, and only a few tiny spots were visible near one of the buttons. She felt a sudden rush of confidence and pride, perhaps even the desire to strut around a little. She grinned broadly and cracked her knuckles.

“Oh yeah. A Paladin _and_ a General. With my powers combined, I think I'm ready for just about anything the Commonwealth has to throw at me today. The only thing that's missing from this picture is a cup of coffee.”

Her shoulders sank a little.

“Damn, I wish Codsworth was here. He makes the best coffee.”

She went to the desk and pulled out a hairbrush from one of the drawers. Still holding the bomber jacket he'd found hanging up in the locker, Danse watched as she brushed her dark hair back into its usual elegant ensemble of waves and curls, then positioned her ceremonial General's hat carefully on her head.

 _I wonder if she knows how beautiful she is,_ he thought, trying not to sigh. _If only I could find a way to tell her without losing my nerve. Not that it matters. A human and a synth – it's wrong. There's no way I could embark on such an unnatural relationship in good conscience. If only loving her didn't feel like the most natural thing in the world. Damn the Institute! Those twisted sons of bitches are probably laughing in their graves about giving a synth the capacity to fall in love with a human, just to prove that they could. Their sick experiments obviously never taught them that loving someone and never being able to tell them is the worst kind of pain. Worse than torn flesh and broken bones. Worse than the headaches. It feels like dying, very slowly..._

“Showtime, Danse. You ready?”

She was waiting for him by the door, idly perusing the notes section of her Pip-Boy; he snapped out of his trance and pulled on the bomber jacket.

“Ready,” he lied.

“Good. Let's go.”

She'd forgotten about her makeup, Danse realized, as they left the room. She'd taken care of her hair, and her clothes, but the Pre-War cosmetics which doubled as her war paint were still daubed messily across her face. He decided that he ought to say something.

“Uh, Margot?”

She stopped.

“Yes?”

“I believe you may have overlooked part of your daily routine, soldier,” he said tactfully. “I'm sorry to report that your make-up is slightly the worse for wear after yesterday's excitement. I recommend washing it off and reapplying it in the usual manner before we go in there.”

Margot took out a small compact mirror from one of her coat's capacious pockets, and cursed when she saw her own reflection.

“Shit, you're right. I can't believe I forgot about my make-up! Excuse me, I'll be right back...”

She hurried off, in the direction of the restrooms. Danse stood and waited for her to return.

“Hello, Paladin Danse!”

He looked over his shoulder and saw a cohort of Squires bearing down on him, accompanied by Proctor Ingram and three Initiates. At the very front of the line was Squire Woods, her face aglow with happiness at the sight of her favorite Paladin. She was holding her teddy bear with one hand, and waving frantically at him with the other.

“Good morning, Squire Woods,” Danse greeted her with a salute. “How are you today?”

She saluted back, beaming.

“I'm happy, sir! We're going on a field trip today! Proctor Ingram's taking us to see Liberty Prime!”

“Don't tell him about Liberty Prime, stupid! He'll tell the Institute!” scolded one of the other Squires.

“He won't tell the silly old Institute,” said Squire Woods, sticking out her tongue at the boy. “Everyone knows they're bad! That's why Paladin de Hav'land blew them up!”

“That's right,” said Danse proudly. He added, with a little grin: “That was why Elder Maxson had to tell everyone that I was dead, so that nobody would know I was going to help Paladin de Havilland destroy the Institute. She said I was her secret weapon. The Institute never even saw us coming.”

Squire Woods gave a happy squeak.

“I knew it!” she said gleefully, hugging the toy bear tightly to her chest. “See, Paladin Teddy? I told you Paladin de Hav'land would never tell Paladin Danse to go away. They're best friends!”

One of the teenage Initiates, a red-haired boy with freckles, smirked and whispered something to one of the others - a blonde girl with a ponytail, who tittered behind her hand.

“I know, right?” she whispered back. “I heard Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys saw them _kissing!”_

The female Squires overheard, and broke into fits of giggles.

“Oooooh!”

“They're in _love!_ ”

“Danse and de Havilland, sitting in a tree! _K-i-s-s-i-n-g!_ ”

Squire O'Malley's face screwed up in revulsion at the very thought of romance.

“Ewww, gross!” he exclaimed. “Were they really kissing?”

“No way, he's a synth!” said Squire Martin rudely, beside him. “Synths can't kiss people! My dad says they don't understand what love is because they're just machines!”

“He's not a synth!” interrupted Squire Olsen, a shorter boy with pale blond hair. “He doesn't look like one of those stupid robots! I bet he's a real person really and Proctor Quinlan was just _lying_. He lied when I asked him where babies come from! He said the stork brings them, but my mom says she found me in a Mutfruit bush!”

“Paladin de Havilland's pretty. When I grow up, _I_ want to kiss her!” declared Squire Dudley.

“Do you like her, Paladin Danse?” Squire Ross inquired, looking up at him with wide sea-green eyes.

Danse coughed. Embarrassment seemed to have set his face on fire. He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to avert his eyes from the curious faces of the Squires, and the grinning Initiates. He hadn't been under such intense scrutiny since his interrogation training.

“I... um... I should be going,” he found himself stammering. “I have to, uh...”

“ _We_ have to go pay a special visit to our friend Liberty Prime,” said Proctor Ingram loudly, before the Squires could quiz Danse any further; she'd noticed the pink color rising in his cheeks, and cast him a brief, sympathetic look. “All right, Squires, move out! We're going to the flight deck! Be careful near the edge, and make sure you hold hands with your designated flight buddy when you're on the Vertibirds! _Ad victoriam!”_

“ _Ad victoriam!_ ” the Squires chorused, and marched in formation to the stairwell.

“Sorry about that, Danse,” Ingram whispered, as she passed him. “Hey... good to see you again. Stay safe, brother.”

She gave him a friendly pat on the back and strode away; the artificial legs of her modified Power Armor frame clanked on the steps of the ladder as she climbed down after the Squires. Danse started to smile as he watched her go. Proctor Ingram wasn't known for her charm, but aside from his brief conversation with Haylen, it was the first gesture of support he'd seen from a member of the _Prydwen_ 's crew since his return.

Margot returned, hurrying down a flight of steps. Her face was clean and slightly pink from scrubbing; she'd carefully redrawn her eyeliner and reapplied her mascara and red lipstick. The faint odor of soap seemed to follow her down the stairs.

“I heard the Squires bothering you from all the way upstairs,” she said, smiling. “Sorry I wasn't here to rescue you from being interrogated.”

“It's fine,” said Danse. The blushing was starting to abate, although not quite fast enough for his liking. “They're only children. They didn't mean to cause offense.”

“They like you,” Margot commented. “You know, Danse, you're pretty good with kids. I bet you'd make a great dad one day.”

Too late, she saw the wounded look on his face, and remembered. Danse was a synth. Cringing at her thoughtlessness, she looked down at her feet, so that she wouldn't have to look him in the eyes. Why did she have to bring up the subject of children, and how could she have forgotten that he couldn't have any of his own?

“Oh crap - Danse, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to - ”

“It's all right,” he said wearily. “We both know why that can't happen. Still, it's a shame. I would have liked... never mind. It doesn't matter now. At least we know that _you_ can't be a synth, Margot. If you were pregnant when you left the Vault, then the Institute couldn't possibly have replaced you in your cryopod. Synthetic human gestation was a technological feat beyond their capabilities. One less thing for you to worry about.”

“I suppose you're right,” said Margot, a little reluctantly. He'd probably been trying to cheer her up, knowing that the idea had been playing on her mind, but it had served only as a painful reminder. At least that made them even, she thought, with a sigh. “Damn it all. Losing a baby is a hell of a way to find out you're not a synth.”

She felt his hand come to rest on her shoulder.

“You okay, soldier?”

“Yeah,” she said, sighing again. “It's just - I've never told anyone about this before. You're the only one who knows besides Codsworth, and I swore him to secrecy. Please don't say anything to the others, okay? They'll just feel sorry for me all over again, and I'm not sure I can stand another round of condolences. Nothing's more wretched than seeing people pitying you everywhere you go.”

“I won't tell a soul,” Danse said, with the utmost solemnity. “Likewise, what I disclosed to you about some of the circumstances behind Cutler's death... I'd appreciate it if you kept that in confidence. Not so much for my sake as for his. Chris was a good soldier, but if the Brotherhood thought that he'd developed feelings for something that wasn't even human, they'd remove his entry from the Codex without a second thought. His name, rank, commendations - every trace of his existence would be permanently erased from our records.”

“We won't let that happen, don't worry,” Margot promised, as she saw the telltale signs of worry surface in his face. “Cutler was my brother in Steel too, and I know he meant a lot to you. If he was half the man you say he was, then I'll take his secrets to the grave. I won't let anyone dishonor him in death, I promise.”

Danse looked at her with gratitude in his eyes.

“Thank you doesn't seem quite sufficient.”

“It'll have to do for now. Come on, we have an Elder to negotiate with.”

They made it a few steps down the hallway when she wondered aloud:

“Say, do you think I could ask for Maxson's coat as reparations?”

“Why are you so fascinated with his coat?” said Danse, baffled. “It's just a coat.”

“What can I say?” said Margot, with a small grin. “It's a really nice coat. You think I'd look good in it?”

“Please don't attempt to demonstrate how good you'd look in Maxson's battlecoat,” said Danse, sighing, as she went to the stairwell. “We don't need another diplomatic incident on our hands.”

“Aww, you're no fun sometimes, Danse!” Margot complained.

“Someone has to be the serious one in this partnership, soldier.”

“Who said I wasn't serious? I think I'd look _great_ in that coat.”

Danse agreed, but he was damned if he was going to admit to it. He was already trying to banish the mental image of Margot trying on the coat and dancing around the command deck in it to the sound of Diamond City Radio. The idea was positively seditious. Especially if she'd been telling the truth about how she normally danced to Diamond City Radio. The thought made him shiver a little. She'd _said_ she'd been kidding, but knowing Margot...

“You coming?” she called, climbing down the ladder.

He gave a start, and shook his head.

“Of course. On my way.”

Margot stepped back from the foot of the ladder and watched him climb down after her. Her back was turned to the windows, and yet she found herself admiring the view anyway.

_He really does have a great butt. Yowch._

“Ah, General. You finally made it,” Preston remarked, behind her. Margot jumped, guiltily, and turned around. He was sitting at the long table which had been set up in the room, holding a cup of black coffee. The wooden surface was covered in paperwork and books with scorched covers; there was also a coffee pot, and a plate of sweet rolls. A young male Scribe sat near the far end of the table, waiting patiently to take notes. “Coffee's fresh if you want some. Elder Maxson was kind enough to lay on some refreshments.”

Margot sniffed the air. The aroma of fresh coffee was like a week's worth of sleep administered directly through the nostrils. Already in better spirits now that she knew caffeine would be involved, she beamed.

“I was never really one for breakfast meetings, but in this case, I think I could be persuaded to make an exception. Hey, Danse, guess what? They have sweet rolls!”

Danse stepped down onto the command deck. The two Brotherhood Paladins on guard turned to look at him, but their expressions were invisible behind their helmets. Margot wasn't sure if they were scowling at him, or merely wondering what the hell he was doing on the command deck after he was supposed to have been banished.

“Excellent,” he said. “We'll have to take one home for Shaun. Good morning, Colonel.”

“Morning, Danse,” said Preston cheerfully. “Good to see we all survived the night. _Just._ ”

A yellowing copy of _Publick Occurrences_ at the head of the table made a harrumphing sound, and threw itself down on the table. Elder Maxson had been sitting behind the newspaper. Margot and Danse tried not to look dumbstruck at the sight of him. He was smartly dressed in his officer's uniform and coat, but he looked pale and haggard, as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

Danse saluted instantly.

“Good morning, Elder Maxson. _Ad victoriam_. I... hope you slept well, sir.”

Elder Maxson glowered at him.

“Hardly. I had to have six of my men executed last night. _Six_. Proctor Quinlan and Star Paladin Hopkins are down at the airport interrogating the rest as we speak. The Paragons of Steel may profess to revere their Elder, but when an Elder's name becomes more important than his orders - I cannot allow that sort of behavior to continue unchecked. Such a perversion of our values undermines the chain of command and threatens all that the Brotherhood holds dear. The thought that we harbored those traitors without even knowing it sickens me to my stomach.”

He stood up and approached Margot.

“General, I owe you an apology for last night's events,” he said. “While we've had our share of personal disagreements in the past, nobody should have to pay for that sort of thing with their life. I'm sincerely sorry for what happened, and I'm glad to see that you're all right.”

“Even though I'm a stubborn, recalcitrant pain in the ass?” said Margot, with a twitch of amusement on her lips.

Maxson went quiet.

“Yes,” he said finally. It was as close as he'd ever get to sounding embarrassed. “When I was named Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel's East Coast chapter, I swore to defend the lives and honor of my men, from the smallest Squire to the greatest of Sentinels. You are my sister in Steel and I will lay down my life to protect you if need be. I'm ashamed that you almost lost your life because of some deluded Knight and the madness of his brothers.”

“I would have, if it weren't for Danse,” Margot replied. She was looking him directly in the eyes; dark brown clashed with steel-blue in an undeclared war of wills. “You owe him a considerable debt for saving the life of one of your Paladins.”

“Yes. Well. We should begin our discussions in earnest,” Maxson said, returning to his chair and sitting down. “Please take a seat, General.”

“Danse, you too,” said Margot, when Danse didn't move. “Please join us.”

She almost sighed when she saw Danse look to Maxson and Preston for approval.

_Damn it, Danse, I'm in charge here! I'm the General of the Minutemen! You obey my orders before theirs!_

“If your General requires you to be a part of our discussions, then out of deference to her authority as leader of the Minutemen, I will permit you to join us,” Maxson said, although he looked as though he begrudged every word. “Please be seated.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Danse sat down at last, and pulled the chair a little closer to the table.

Margot took her seat, poured herself a cup of coffee from the tarnished metal pot, and watched steam rise into the air. Sugar and cream were a thing of the past; she'd grown accustomed to the bitterness of black coffee and learned to call it a luxury. The fact that there was still coffee left in the world at all was one of the few blessings of the apocalypse. She always cheered when she found a tin intact in the ruins - it was like finding a little capsule of sanity in a world gone mad.

_And on the subject of the world going mad... I'm about to prove that I fit right in. Here goes nothing._

“Before we talk about anything else, Elder Maxson, let's discuss reparations,” she said shortly. “First and foremost, I demand that Knight Payne and his fellow cult members be struck from the Codex for their part in last night's assassination attempt.”

“Already done,” Maxson responded straight away. “Scribe Fitzgerald?”

The Scribe sitting on his right looked up from an open tome.

“Elder Maxson wishes me to advise you that the entries for Knight Willem Payne and his fellow Paragons were removed from the Codex immediately following their execution,” he said. His voice was high and slightly nasal. “Any additional members of the cult will suffer the same fate. We will not permit their actions to stain the reputation of the Brotherhood of Steel. They will _all_ be removed, both from our records and from the face of the earth.”

“Good,” said Margot, pleased, if a little stunned by the swiftness of the response; that certainly hadn't taken long. “Very well. My second demand was the topic of last night's discussions. Danse's reinstation. I trust you've had chance to consider the idea.”

“I've given it lengthy consideration,” said Maxson. He took a long draft of coffee, draining the cup dry and setting it down on the table with a thud which made Scribe Fitzgerald look up, startled, from his writings. “First, I would like to explain why I made my initial decision.”

“Spare me your moralizing, Maxson,” Margot said rudely, before he could begin. “If you're going to drone on about how _difficult_ it was to order Danse's execution but it was your _duty_ to save humanity from things like him _,_ then you can stop right there. I'm not about to sit here and listen to that crap again.”

“I thought we were here to have a conversation,” said Maxson, with a touch of impatience. “Grown-up conversations need people who are wiling to listen, not just talk. Perhaps you could keep your ego under wraps for a few minutes and hear me out.”

A small spot of scarlet appeared on each of Margot's cheeks.

“Fine,” she said sullenly. “Spill it.”

“You're right about one thing, at least. Danse _was_ one of the best men we had,” Elder Maxson continued, as the Scribe beside him hastened to refill the Elder's coffee cup. “Thank you, Scribe.”

“You're welcome, sir.”

Maxson picked up the cup and took a sip as steam boiled over the rim.

“The truth is, I agonized for some time over the decision,” he said. “The Danse I knew wasn't just a skilled commander – he was a brave, upstanding soldier who was well-respected in the ranks. His prowess on the battlefield was exceptional, and his conduct nothing less than exemplary. To find out that one of our finest men wasn't even a man, but a – a machine... the revelation wasn't just a shock, it was a _scandal_. We'd admitted a product of the enemy into our ranks and allowed it to hold a position of trust in our command staff.”

Danse was looking down at the surface of the table. Margot felt a lump form in her throat. He looked so hurt and ashamed; she wanted to reach across the tabletop, take his hands in hers and tell him that it was going to be all right. Instead, she fixed Maxson with a look which could have nailed a lesser man to the wall and left him there.

“Maxson, I swear to God, if you call Danse an _it_ one more time, I will throw my coffee in your face,” she growled. “Get to the point!”

“The _point_ , General, is that I suddenly found the fate of the Brotherhood of Steel hanging in the balance,” said Maxson, returning her facial expression in kind. “You were not with us during Owyn Lyons' tenure as Elder. You didn't witness the schism between the Brotherhood and the offshoot known as the Outcasts, who sought to distance themselves from the East Coast Brotherhood as an act of protest against Lyons' shortsighted policies. The damage it caused to us... when the Outcasts left us, brother turned against brother, and the bonds of Steel were shattered. We were weak, divided, and broken. When I became Elder, it took just about everything I had to bring the Outcasts back into the fold again and reunite the Brotherhood of Steel. And that was the result of an argument over what we _do_. An argument over who and what we _are_ might well have been the end of us.”

He put down his cup again. The sound seemed even louder in the silence of the room.

“While Danse's plight saddened me greatly, I knew that my men would have refused to serve with a synth. To demand that they do so could well have divided the Brotherhood once more. I couldn't let what happened under Lyons happen again; I had a duty to my brothers and sisters to ensure that the Brotherhood of Steel remained united and strong. I had a choice: either purge Danse from our ranks and reassure my men that there were no more traitors in our midst, or insist that they disregard his origins and accept him, which would have undoubtedly have forced them to question their faith in me as their Elder. They would have wondered if the Institute had gotten to me too, and replaced me with one of their creations. Fear, doubt and mistrust would have torn us apart from the inside out, and the effects would have been felt from the Citadel all the way to Lost Hills. It might well have precipitated the collapse of our entire command structure and the eventual destruction of our order. You have to understand, de Havilland. I couldn't allow the Brotherhood of Steel to fall for the sake of one man.”

“So you threw him to the wolves for the greater good,” said Margot, sweetly sarcastic, as she picked up her coffee again and sipped it. “I'm sure that helped you to sleep at night when you ordered me to kill my own mentor. That way the blood wouldn't be on your hands, and it wouldn't really be your fault. It would just be one more order to give; something you could stand by, even if you couldn't stand to look at it directly. If I failed, that would be Danse's fault for not training me correctly, and you'd have one more reason to call him a traitor. But if I succeeded, it would be a wastelander who'd killed him, not someone who'd been born into the Brotherhood. If Danse's friends and comrades protested too much over his death, you could point the finger at me and say I was the one to blame. And if they'd tried to start some sort of mutiny, you could have executed me, the woman who'd pulled the trigger, in order to placate them. All for the greater good.”

“You don't understand, General - ”

“Oh, I understand!” snapped Margot. “You restored order for a little while, or some semblance of it, and everything seems all right on the face of things. But things are good at seeming all right when they're not. The truth is, the Brotherhood is in crisis. Morale is low. Several officers have already resigned their commission over what happened to Danse. Half of our brothers and sisters look ready to start a mutiny, and the other half have apparently gone berserk and joined a cult. I even heard a rumor that you're petrified that you might be a synth yourself. That kind of paranoia is catching. People are going to start wondering if you're a synth, if _they're_ a synth, if their brother or sister in Steel is a synth. It'll foster exactly the sort of fear and mistrust that you were hoping to avoid in the first place.”

She set down her cup with a little _tap._

“Don't you see? We're already divided! Angry, resentful and afraid of each other. I was almost murdered by one of our own Knights - someone I should have been able to trust with my life. When people lose their trust in their fellow man and start thinking of each other as less than human, bad things happen. Things like bigotry and concentration camps. Covenant. Mariposa. The Great War. We never learn from our mistakes, do we? Man's inhumanity to man threatens to wipe out humanity itself, over and over again.”

Elder Maxson looked suddenly uncertain.

“Even if you're right, de Havilland, I can hardly go back on my decree now that I've made it. What would you have me do?”

“The right thing, damn it!” Margot yelled, pounding her fist on the table; the coffee cups trembled on the wooden surface, and hot coffee slopped over the edge of Preston's mug. Scribe Fitzgerald almost jumped out of his seat in fright. “One man has the power to tear the Brotherhood apart, but he also has the power to unify it and make it stronger. That man is _you_ , Elder Maxson! In the Brotherhood of Steel, we respect our Elder, and we obey his orders! If you can get _me_ to acknowledge that, then you shouldn't have trouble persuading the rest of our brothers and sisters that your orders are worth following! I know I'll be the first to tell them that they are, if you'll only give Danse the opportunity to prove his allegiance to you and the Brotherhood!”

Danse had been watching the exchange with a slightly stunned expression.

“General? Elder Maxson? If I may - ?” he said at last.

“Yes, Danse? What is it?” Margot asked him.

“Without wishing to sound ungrateful, General, I don't want to be the cause of another rift in the Brotherhood,” said Danse. He lowered his eyes as everyone else turned to look at him. “I know you want to give my old life back to me and that your intentions are well-meant, but those years of infighting between the Lyons loyalists and the Outcasts almost destroyed us, and I don't want to see it happen all over again. The Brotherhood is my family, and I'd rather see it strong and united without me than tearing itself apart on my account. If that means I have to part ways with my brothers and sisters forever, then so be it. But the world needs the Brotherhood of Steel far more than it needs me, and I'll walk away before I'll be the reason for the downfall of our order, or our Elder's loss of face.”

Elder Maxson and Scribe Fitzgerald were both staring at him; Preston didn't seem to know what to say. Margot, however, looked at him in admiration.

“Wow. You're a good guy, Danse, you know that? Almost too good to share. Maybe I should tell the Brotherhood I've changed my mind and I'm keeping you for myself.”

Danse felt his cheeks grow warm.

_I wouldn't mind if you wanted me to belong to you. Wherever you want me, that's where I'll be. Now and always._

“You see, Elder Maxson?” said Margot triumphantly. “ _That_ is the measure of the man you cast out. Someone who always puts the needs of his brothers and sisters in Steel before his own, no matter what it costs him in return. Is that a quality you'd find in a traitor? Someone in thrall to the Institute? Because let me tell you, Danse would die before he'd betray the Brotherhood, and he'd gladly lay down his life to protect you, me, Scribe Fitzgerald, or even those guys over there,” she added, gesturing to the pair of Paladins standing guard nearby. “I think his words tell you all you need to know about what's really in his heart and mind. Do I really need to continue to persuade you to take him back?”

“No,” said Elder Maxson. He was pursing his lips; he appeared to be deeply displeased. “I've already made my decision. I only hope that you won't make me regret it.”

Margot felt her heart skip.

“You have?”

“Yes. After a great deal of thought, I've decided to accede to your... request.”

“You mean demand.”

“ _Request,_ ” said Maxson dangerously. “I will allow Danse to rejoin the Brotherhood of Steel. However, I have not reached this decision lightly, and it comes with several terms, all of which I expect you to accept unconditionally. Let me make it clear, these conditions are absolutely non-negotiable. I am _not_ prepared to compromise on this matter, or search for some non-existent middle ground. You can take or leave this offer, but you must do so in its entirety.”

Scribe Fitzgerald started scribbling again, pencil ducking and weaving across the paper as he took down notes.

“Go on,” said Margot, with caution. “Let's hear about these terms and conditions of yours.”

Maxson cleared his throat.

“Should you decide to accept my offer, then by my authority as Elder, and as Steel is my witness, the synth known as Danse will be granted the official designation of non-human person within the Brotherhood of Steel. Although he will serve alongside Knights and Paladins in the normal fashion, his status will be on a par with the Brotherhood's Mister Gutsy robots, and Liberty Prime - Danse is a weapon of war, captured from the Institute and repurposed for our own use, and we will deploy him accordingly whenever we see fit. He will undergo any and all physical and mental evaluations which we deem necessary, in order to determine that he will remain loyal to us and that he cannot be remotely activated by the Institute Remnants in any way. Once he has passed inspection, he will be permitted to re-enlist in our infantry at the rank of Knight-Captain. You will be his official sponsor, and you will be held responsible for his actions. If he puts so much as a toe out of line, you're _both_ gone. And you will both have to take the Oath of Fraternity. If I recall correctly, Paladin, you never took the Oath yourself, such was our haste to send you out into the field to destroy the Institute. It's about time you made your formal affirmation to your brothers and sisters in Steel. Which, I hasten to add, includes bowing before your Elder in submission to his authority, in keeping with our ceremonial traditions.”

“Oh, you son of a bitch,” said Margot, narrowing her eyes. “Demoting Danse and reducing him to non-human status? And forcing a proud American woman to grovel like a slave before someone who says he's just a man? You're trying to punish us both for causing you to lose face, aren't you? Do you think this is funny, Maxson? Are you getting a kick out of this? I hope you are, you spiteful bastard, and I hope it's worth it, because when all this is said and done, I'm going to kick your - ”

“General, I respectfully suggest that you shut up, ma'am,” said Danse quickly. “Elder Maxson, we accept your terms. _Gratefully_ ,” he added, with a warning look at Margot. “I am deeply honored to be able to rejoin my brothers and sisters in Steel, and I vow to continue to serve the Brotherhood to the fullest extent of my abilities. I won't let you down, sir.”

Elder Maxson's lips pursed a little tighter.

“See that you don't, Danse,” he said stiffly. “I expect you to report to the _Prydwen_ within the week to re-enlist and undergo full medical and combat fitness evaluations. Your sponsor will then accompany you at all times until further notice. That's all I have to say on the subject.”

“Well, knowing that you're one big happy family again is all very touching, Elder Maxson, but I thought we were here to discuss the terms of a treaty, not internal Brotherhood of Steel matters,” said Preston, with the faintest hint of disapproval. “Are we still here to talk through the terms of a non-aggression pact, or should I take the next Vertibird back to the airport and just leave you guys to hug it out?”

 _Oh Preston, I never knew you were such a sassy-pants,_ Margot thought, trying not to laugh. _I must be a bad influence. But you're right. We've been arguing over poor Danse for much too long already. Time to get down to business..._

“No, Colonel, you're quite right,” Maxson agreed. He leaned forward in his chair. “It's about time we discussed the real issues at hand. Namely, our common interests and goals. Tell me, what _do_ the Minutemen have in mind for the Commonwealth and its future?”

Preston brightened.

“I'm glad you asked, Elder Maxson. Our purpose is to protect the ordinary people of the Commonwealth, at a minute's notice. We stand ready to defend settlements of all sizes from anything which could threaten the safety of the people who live there - Gunners, Raiders, Super Mutants, Feral Ghouls, even Deathclaws and other unfriendly wildlife. Our goal is to allow people to rebuild and renew, wherever they can, so we can help humanity to get back on its feet. And you, Elder Maxson? What is the Brotherhood of Steel all about? What are your plans for the Commonwealth?”

Margot took a sweet roll from the plate in the center of the table, and watched Preston and Elder Maxson as they discussed their respective ideals. She smiled. A lot of the tension appeared to have left the room. Across the table, Danse looked quietly elated; seeing a happier light in his eyes sent warmth flooding through her heart.

_He's part of the Brotherhood again. Back with his family, where he belongs. I just hope all those concerns about causing some sort of division in the Brotherhood will turn out to be unfounded. If they aren't, we'll be knee-deep in Paragons and would-be Outcasts. It'll take forever to wipe the bastards out and set things straight. Why are political matters always so damn complicated?_

Danse was trying so hard to keep a straight face, but a smile was tugging inexorably at his lips. It was nice to see him happy again, thought Margot, although she couldn't say she was entirely satisfied with the outcome.

_Non-human status. A weapon of war. You're a cruel son of a bitch, Maxson. Still, if that's what it takes to start you back down the road to accepting Danse for who and what he is, then I guess we'll just have to go with it. In the Brotherhood of Steel, we respect our Elder, and we obey his orders. I said so myself. I can't really turn around and behave any differently, because if I do, what kind of lousy hypocrite does that make me? I still want to kick his ass over all this, though. Especially for forcing me into agreeing to bow, which is almost certainly his way of getting back at me. He knows I hate that kind of thing. Damn his uncompromising hide!_

“Then we're agreed,” Elder Maxson said suddenly. “I don't see any reason why the Minutemen and the Brotherhood of Steel can't coexist peacefully in the Commonwealth. Our factions are both here to defend the people of the Commonwealth from the dangers of the wasteland, and to act in the best interests of humanity. The question now is how we intend to accomplish those goals. The Minutemen require manpower and money to extend their reach. The Brotherhood requires provisions so that we can continue to defend the Commonwealth from the scourges of Raiders, mutants, and synths. We need food, water, ammunition, fuel for our Vertibirds, and steel for repairs. How can we help each other, Colonel Garvey?”

Preston looked thoughtful.

“Now that is a good question. Let's see... uh, General? What do you think?”

“I think you're more than capable of dealing with the fine details here, Preston,” Margot told him, with a smile. “I'll let you handle this one. If I hear something I disagree with, I'll be sure to pitch in, but from what I've heard so far, it sounds like you've got this.”

Preston beamed with pride.

“I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, General. All right, Elder, let's get down to details. Exactly how much food, water, ammunition and, uh, other stuff are we talking here?”

Fine details had always been Preston's department, she thought. He was the one who'd known every inch of the Commonwealth when she found herself a stranger in her own homeland; he'd gladly walked over to shake hands with settlers and introduce himself, when she found herself struggling to find the nerve just to ask them if they had a spare bobby pin, and she frequently found herself envying his natural affinity with the Commonwealth and its people. It didn't seem to come quite as easily to her, no matter how much he assured her that it did.

_Preston always knows what needs doing around here. He just needs my approval so he can get it done. I don't really know why, because he's perfectly capable of taking care of things all by himself. Sometimes it seems like my job is to look impressive, sign off on his orders, and head out to kill things for him when his hands are too full of other people's problems. One of these days, I'll have to talk to him again about succeeding me as General..._

Margot finished her sweet roll, then sat back in her chair and listened to Preston and Elder Maxson discussing the serious business of provisions. Although she tried to pay attention to the details, there seemed to be nothing controversial for her to jump on, and the endless exchanges of numbers and percentages quickly became tedious. Bored, she looked over at Danse to see what he thought of the proceedings. He appeared to be paying attention, but only just.

“This is really boring,” she mouthed, leaning across the table.

Danse frowned.

“Logistics and supply lines are important,” he whispered back. “Try to pay attention.”

“I am. But it's really, _really_ boring.”

“I'll admit it's not exactly a lively topic of discussion. Kill counts were more my department than securing supplies. The Scribes always used to take care of that sort of thing.”

“I wish I'd brought a book,” she grumbled. “Or _Red Menace_.”

The frown on Danse's face deepened.

“Playing games on your Pip-Boy during diplomatic talks is unprofessional, soldier. Please try to act like a Paladin and not a bored Initiate. You're supposed to be in charge here.”

“Whatever you say, Knight-Captain Danse.”

This time Danse couldn't help grinning. Margot felt herself grin too; she couldn't help it either. There was just something about the way he smiled. She would have traversed the whole Commonwealth, and a field full of landmines and angry Radscorpions for good measure, all in the hope of seeing him smile at her again.

 _Nate,_ she reminded herself, with a pang of guilt, glancing down at the gold wedding ring on her finger. _I have to remember my husband, and how much I still love him. This whole thing... it's just loneliness, because Nate isn't here any more and I miss having someone to hold and care about. But I'm Danse's commanding officer twice over now, and it's not fair of me to ask anything more of him than obedience and loyalty. Karma keeps sending me Preston-shaped reminders of that every time I dare to contemplate kissing him. It's time I sat up, smelled the coffee, and paid attention to these ridiculously boring negotiations, instead of sighing over something that's just not meant to be._

“... the Brotherhood also requests that the local settlements do their part in providing adequate supplies of food and water to us, so that we can continue to intervene when Raiders attack,” Maxson was saying. “Our numbers are projected to increase rapidly thanks to our current recruitment efforts, and all those men need to be fed. We'll require at least fifty percent of the crops grown at Graygarden, Greentop Nursery, Finch Farm and Abernathy Farm, thirty percent of Tarberry production from The Slog, and twenty percent of produce available from all other settlements of significant size.”

“Elder Maxson, that's impossible,” said Preston, frowning. “Graygarden and Greentop Nursery were commercial operations before the war, so they might be able to handle that level of production, but the other settlements won't be able to meet the quotas you've suggested. The Abernathys and Finches are subsistence farmers and require most of their crop just to feed their families. The smaller settlements can't cope with that kind of demand either; some of them are barely clinging on to existence as it is. And if I may say so, you have a lot of nerve asking for anything from The Slog, given how the Brotherhood of Steel treats the Ghouls of the Commonwealth. Forty percent from Graygarden and Greentop Nursery, fifteen percent from the other settlements, and ten percent from Finch and Abernathy Farms. The settlers are to be reasonably compensated for their crops. Three thousand caps per shipment for Graygarden and Greentop; one thousand for the other settlements.”

Maxson frowned.

“That's completely unreasonable. I don't object to financial compensation for their efforts, Colonel Garvey, but those amounts are outrageous and you know it. Seven hundred and fifty caps for Graygarden and Greentop. Three hundred for the others.”

“Two thousand for Graygarden and Greentop. One thousand for the rest,” said Preston.

“Eight hundred, and four hundred. That's my final offer.”

Preston raised his eyebrows.

“Make it a thousand, and four hundred seventy-five, and we have a deal.”

Maxson's eyebrows lowered in grave displeasure, but he nodded.

“Very well. Scribe Fitzgerald, let the record show that we will pay Graygarden and Greentop Nursery one thousand caps for each shipment of crops, and four hundred seventy-five caps for shipments from the other settlements. Shipments of meat will continue to be obtained via our existing vendors in Diamond City and Bunker Hill.”

“Yes, sir,” said Scribe Fitzgerald, scribbling at full speed.

“Now for the question of steel,” Maxson continued. “I understand that your General was instrumental in clearing out the Raider faction known as the Forged from the area near The Slog. The Brotherhood of Steel is prepared to withdraw its prior request to station troops in settlements, in exchange for complete control of Saugus Ironworks.”

“The Brotherhood of Steel will withdraw its request to station troops in Minutemen-controlled settlements because the Third Amendment prohibits the federal government from forcing people to lodge soldiers in their homes during peacetime without their consent,” said Preston calmly. “No formal declaration of war has been issued, and therefore you have no grounds on which to make such a request.”

“Colonel Garvey, there is no federal government,” said Maxson abruptly. “It fell after the Great War, although the Enclave sought to install themselves in its place. Unsuccessfully, I might add, thanks to the tireless efforts of the Brotherhood of Steel.”

“The Brotherhood of Steel's predecessors were employed by the federal government through the Department of Defense,” Preston pointed out, to Maxson's irritation and Margot's silent glee. “Although the federal government no longer exists, the principle still stands. The United States Armed Forces, or their successors and assigns, cannot demand that civilians harbor troops in their homes. Settlers may _allow_ the presence of Brotherhood troops in their settlements, but you have to ask them, and they have to say yes. And even if they grant permission, they can rescind it and ask you to leave at any time, and you must comply.”

Margot had to resist the urge to stand up and cheer. She'd given her second-in-command an old library book on Constitutional law after he'd expressed an interest in learning more about the legacy of the ancient Minutemen and the independent country they'd helped to create. Preston had clearly been doing some reading.

 _Law,_ she thought, smiling to herself as the two men wrangled over the ins and outs of the Third Amendment and its wording. _Law never changes..._

“Fine,” said Elder Maxson roughly, when it became apparent that Preston was the victor. “Then the Brotherhood of Steel is willing to extend an invitation to conduct joint military exercises with the Minutemen, and set up a boot camp for your recruits so that they can undergo Brotherhood-standard basic training. We can also gift a few sets of T-45 Power Armor to the Minutemen. But in return, we want the ironworks.”

“A generous offer,” said Preston. He nodded. “All right, we'll let you take possession of Saugus Ironworks for the purposes of technical research and steel production. But we also want two Vertibirds, and someone who's willing to offer pilot training to suitable candidates within the Minutemen's ranks. We'll buy shipments of steel from you as and when we require them, at a fair market price. You will be responsible for sourcing your own raw materials for manufacturing purposes. And in the event that the Brotherhood of Steel decides to leave the Commonwealth and relinquishes the Saugus facility, the Minutemen reserve the right to assume control of the ironworks at that time in order to continue steel production.”

Maxson pursed his lips.

“In that _highly unlikely_ event, we would expect proper financial compensation for the loss of the ironworks facility. I'll have Proctor Quinlan and Scribe Fitzgerald draw up a settlement agreement for future use, should the circumstances ever arise.”

“Deal. Now about that Power Armor you mentioned...”

A young woman in a Research Scribe's armor came rushing into the room.

“Elder Maxson! Sir! Please excuse my intrusion, but - ”

Elder Maxson turned to look at her.

“I thought I made it clear that we were not to be disturbed, Scribe Haggerty,” he said. There was a distinct chill in his words. “We're in the middle of negotiations and we need to have everything concluded and signed by midday. Another VIP is _en route_ to the _Prydwen_ and it's crucial that I be there to meet with them upon their arrival.”

She saluted.

“Y-yes, sir, I know, but... Elder Maxson, with all due respect, sir, I think you should come and see this right away.”

Elder Maxson made a faint growling noise in the back of his throat, and slammed down his coffee cup so hard that the contents sprayed across the table. His chair screeched across the floor as he stood up.

“Scribe Haggerty, this had better be a matter of _great_ importance!”

“It is, sir,” said the Scribe meekly. “You asked me to come and fetch you if we intercepted another transmission. We have. It's airing even as we speak. It mentions the Brotherhood of Steel specifically. We're attempting to record and loop the broadcast for Senior Scribe Neriah's analysis, but - ”

Maxson's face darkened.

“Another one? What does that lunatic have to say about the Brotherhood?”

“It's... honestly, sir, it's easier if you come and see for yourself,” said Scribe Haggerty apologetically. “I'm very sorry. I'll try not to keep you away from the negotiations for long. But Scribe Neriah specifically asked for me to come get you. We sent one of the Knights down to the airport to fetch Proctor Quinlan and bring him back up here. He'll want to see this too.”

“Fine,” Maxson snapped. “Colonel, please excuse me. I'll be right back. Feel free to help yourself to more coffee. De Havilland, Danse, with me!”

Danse and Margot both rose from their chairs and followed Elder Maxson past the display of Brotherhood and Minutemen flags.

“What's this all about, Elder?” said Margot. “Must be pretty important if you think it takes priority over peace with the Minutemen...”

“I understand that you now have some working television sets in Sanctuary Hills,” said Elder Maxson, as he climbed up the ladder to the main deck. Margot and Danse fell in behind him and followed him up the rungs. “Tell me, have you heard of an individual known as the AntAgonizer?”

Margot groaned.

“Her? Oh God, please don't tell me it's another one of her stupid broadcasts. We're all sick to death of that particular brand of insanity.”

“Then I take it you've been watching too,” said Elder Maxson. He strode across the main deck, and up to the stairs, while Scribe Haggerty hurried ahead of him. “Have you ever encountered her in person?”

Margot shook her head.

“No, sir. Danse and I recently went out to Oberland Station to wipe out some fire ants which were bothering the settlers and threatening to disrupt the caravan routes. We destroyed their nest. We believe that they're connected to her in some way, or at least that she wants people to _think_ that they're her doing. She's styled herself after a Pre-War comic book villain of the same name.”

“I recall the character from an issue of _Grognak the Barbarian_ ,” said Elder Maxson, frowning slightly as he brought the memory to mind. “ _The Agony of the Ants_ , I believe. Quite a memorable villain, although I personally preferred Skullpocalypse and the Man-Saurian. I must say I always found the AntAgonizer's dialog somewhat unconvincing. Her real-life counterpart, however, is rather more eloquent, and also threatening to unleash some sort of army of giant ants on the people of the Commonwealth. Preliminary intelligence from a skirmish at University Point indicates that the ants supposedly under her “command” may be related in some way to the giant ants native to the Capital Wasteland.”

“Sir, from what I've seen of them, they appear to be the same fire-breathing variety that our troops encountered in Grayditch,” Danse put in. “Although the Brotherhood asset codenamed Lone Wanderer put paid to the nest and its queen, there were numerous stragglers and the mopping-up exercises continued for several weeks following the incident. It took Elder Lyons' men some time to completely secure the area. Until now, however, we hadn't had any further sightings. We'd assumed that was the last of them.”

“Which begs the question of how they've made their reappearance after all this time,” said Elder Maxson, sweeping past a group of wide-eyed Initiates and heading over to the research stations. “They're worse than the Paragons. I thought _they_ were gone too.”

“Unknown, sir. We'll do our best to find out.”

“Let's just see about this damned broadcast first. Senior Scribe Neriah! Report!”

Senior Scribe Neriah, a woman with a sleek black bob and a preoccupied expression, was standing in front of an old Radiation King television set which had been placed next to her terminal. A nervous young man in the same Science Scribe armor stood beside the television; he was holding up a misshapen piece of metal which appeared to be some sort of makeshift antenna.

“A little to the left, Scribe-Initiate Morgan,” she called. “We're still getting some static!”

“Yes, ma'am!”

Scribe-Initiate Morgan shuffled obediently a few paces to the left.

“I think we've got it,” Neriah announced. “All right, are we recording? I want to get this on a holotape for later so we can extrapolate data and try to track the signal!”

“Yes, ma'am,” called another Scribe, who was fiddling with some sort of device. “Recording!”

“Elder Maxson,” Neriah greeted him at last, with a salute. “Sir, you should see this...”

The black-and-white picture on the television's curved screen was slightly out of focus, but the image itself was difficult to mistake. The AntAgonizer occupied the screen, with her usual sour expression. Margot clenched her teeth at the sound of the cold, shrill voice. Elder Maxson stood with folded arms and watched the broadcast with eyes like narrow shards of ice.

“... _I want to know who is responsible for destroying my tireless ant soldiers in their nest,_ ” she was saying. _“The pathetic settlers of Oberland Station were too weak to have fought them themselves. They had help. I hear talk of the Minutemen, and their General. Claims that they were responsible for the destruction of one of my nests. If this is true, then I advise them to be wary, for this insult will not go unpunished! The Ant Queen will have her revenge on the Minutemen, and on the Brotherhood of Steel, who had the temerity to force me out of the Capital Wasteland! Those puny humans, too weak to fight outside their metal suits, will cower in fear before the AntAgonizer! I will see them all destroyed to a man, and then I shall rule the Commonwealth in glory and terror! A new age will begin – the age of the ants! The age of the AntAgonizer!”_

“Turn that thing off,” Elder Maxson ordered. “I've heard enough. Nothing more than the ramblings of a madwoman.”

Senior Scribe Neriah switched off the television. Scribe-Initiate Morgan gave a sigh of relief and set down the antenna, rubbing his arms as if they ached.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” said Maxson, turning to Haggerty and Neriah. “While I doubt that the Brotherhood of Steel has anything much to fear from the AntAgonizer, I'm not prepared to tolerate anyone who threatens my brothers and sisters in Steel. Madwoman or not, I want her found and eliminated! Those ants of hers are mutant pests and must be destroyed for the good of humanity. Do you have any idea where these broadcasts are coming from?”

Neriah shook her head.

“No, sir. Not yet. I was hoping to - ”

“We do,” Margot interrupted. “Elder Maxson, we believe that the signal may be originating from the old GNN television studios. Knight-Captain Danse and I were preparing to embark on a mission to investigate the studio facilities when you arrived in Sanctuary Hills. We still intend to investigate once our business with you has concluded, and we'll be happy to share any intelligence we find.”

“Good work, de Havilland,” said Elder Maxson brusquely. “I suggest you both head out as soon as possible. Please report back to me with your findings. In the meantime, I think we're done here. We should return to the command deck and wrap up our negotiations.”

*

The rest of the meeting passed by in a blur. Margot watched dizzily as Preston and Elder Maxson continued their rapid-fire exchanges of promises, offers and counter-offers, moving from issue to issue so quickly that she could barely keep up. The old political certainties seemed to be shifting precariously underfoot, but when she glanced over at Danse, to see if he looked as blindsided as she felt, he didn't seem bothered by any of it. Now that he'd been anchored once more in the Brotherhood of Steel and no longer found himself adrift in the world, he was the old Danse again; anxiety seemed to have been replaced with cautious optimism, and the solid, unflappable demeanor she'd always found so reassuring had been restored.

Well, at least until she'd stretched out her legs under the table and accidentally brushed her foot against his. He'd gone pale, then a very flustered pink. She'd whispered an apology, and he'd nodded, but it didn't seem to have done much good; he'd looked so red in the face that Preston had broken off from negotiations to ask him if he was all right.

She'd been tempted to do it again, but she'd suspected that wouldn't have gone down well. She would probably have had some explaining to do to Nate in the afterlife... not to mention the other people present on the command deck if Danse fainted and fell off his chair.

 _Think about Nate,_ she reminded herself. _The time he took you to prom. Your wedding day. The day he finally came home from the war and held you close to him. The way he always laughed at your awful jokes, and kissed you goodnight just before you both went to sleep. You can't let go of those memories. They're all that's left of the man you loved. Nobody else remembers him except Codsworth. Don't let him vanish into the night as if he never existed... keep him alive, if only in your heart._

All the same, she couldn't help sneaking a little look at Danse. Of all her friends, he seemed to be the most startled by displays of affection. Curie blushed happily whenever someone greeted her with a hug or a kiss on the cheek; Piper made cheery, awkward little comments, and Hancock and Cait made lewd ones. Deacon and MacCready tended to laugh it all off in an embarrassed sort of way. Nick pretended not to be charmed by friendly hugs or kisses. Danse, on the other hand, always looked bowled over by any indication that someone cared for him; she suspected that he didn't know how to respond, in kind or otherwise.

She wondered how he really felt about her. Whether he was just being kind and humoring her whenever she reached out to him - or if he felt more deeply about things, but was too shy to say so. She thought about the flowers he'd given her at Abernathy Farm, and the way he'd put his arm around her at the drive-in.

_He's such a sweet guy. It's a shame we can't pursue whatever it is we have together. Especially not now. Even if I didn't feel guilty as hell about the way I think about him sometimes, I don't think the Brotherhood of Steel would ever sanction a relationship between a human and a synth. And all the chain of command stuff... it's a no-go. Kills me to admit it, but it is. We'll just have to remain good friends and try to keep things professional._

She hated her heart for the way it sank.

“General,” Preston said abruptly, snapping Margot out of her thoughts. “I think we're done here. Is there anything you want to add?”

“N-no,” she said hastily. “Good job, Preston. I think this meeting has been a great success. I look forward to the possibility of forming a future alliance with the Brotherhood of Steel on the back of these negotiations.”

“As do I,” Elder Maxson agreed. “This has been a very productive morning. Thank you for meeting with us, General, Colonel... Danse. I'll have Scribe Fitzgerald draw up the documents immediately. Once the terms of our agreement have been transcribed, we can meet again to review and sign the pact. Until then, I think our business today is concluded.”

They all stood up from the table, and went to shake hands. Preston and Maxson shook hands politely.

“A pleasure to meet you, Colonel.”

“Likewise, Elder.”

Now it was Margot's turn; she found her right hand being crushed in Maxson's vice-like grip, and tried not to wince at the pain in her bruised fingers.

“Thank you for meeting with me, General. A pleasure, as always.”

Margot smiled. There was no way he could possibly have meant that, after all the trouble she'd caused him, but he'd been polite enough not to say so.

“Thank you, Elder Maxson. The pleasure was all mine.”

“Your Colonel is quite a negotiator, by the way,” Maxson added, taking care to lower his voice. “As one leader to another, I'd advise you to keep him close at hand. He's a valuable asset.”

This time Margot grinned. She wished now that she'd been paying more attention. It sounded as though Preston had utterly wiped the floor with the leader of the Brotherhood of Steel.

_Nice work, Preston. I'll have to give you a raise._

“I couldn't agree more,” she said, with a warm smile in Preston's direction. “Thank you again, Elder. I look forward to our next meeting.”

“Shall we say a week from now?” the Elder suggested. “That should give you and Danse the opportunity to investigate the GNN Plaza, and you can communicate your findings to us when next we meet.”

“Affirmative, sir. A week should be more than enough to gather the intelligence we need.”

“Good. Then it's agreed.”

Elder Maxson turned and saw Danse. He hesitated, but extended his hand anyway.

“Danse,” he said. “Welcome back to the Brotherhood of Steel.”

Danse shook his hand gratefully.

“Thank you, sir. It's good to be home.”

 _Home,_ thought Margot. _I suppose the Prydwen is his home as much as Sanctuary Hills is. I'm not sure what kind of home welcomes you back with the words “and by the way, you're not human any more”, but if he's happy, then I guess I'll have to try to be happy for him too._

She went over to shake Scribe Fitzgerald's hand.

“Scribe Fitzgerald. Thank you for your patient assistance throughout these negotiations,” she told him. “I hope Elder Maxson gives you a promotion for putting up with all this bullshit. Or at least some kind of bonus. Your help with these proceedings is much appreciated.”

Scribe Fitzgerald risked a little smile.

“T-thank you, General. Paladin. It's my honor to serve.”

“Good man. _Ad victoriam._ ”

He brightened; he seemed far more comfortable with the Brotherhood's traditional rallying cry than he did with handshakes.

“ _Ad victoriam_ , ma'am,” he said, saluting.

Margot returned the salute, then left him to finish writing up the minutes of the meeting.

“Elder Maxson. Sir,” she said, as she approached the leader of the Brotherhood. “If we're done here, may I have your permission to disembark and head home?”

“Of course, Paladin,” Maxson replied. “Permission granted.”

“Thank you, sir. We'll see you again in a week, if not sooner. I'll be sure to report in if we hear anything more about the AntAgonizer.”

“That's appreciated, de Havilland. Now if you'll excuse me - ”

“Uh, Elder Maxson?” she said suddenly.

Elder Maxson turned back to face her.

“Yes, de Havilland?”

Margot's shoulders sagged. She hated herself for doing this, but she couldn't deny the fact that Maxson had at least tried to meet her halfway. Whether he'd truly undergone some change of heart or simply decided that it was politically expedient to accept some of her demands, she wasn't sure; however, it seemed to be about time she returned the favor and made some concessions of her own.

“I – I'm sorry, sir,” she said, in low, humble tones. “For any disrespect I've shown you, and any trouble I've caused you over Danse. I hope everything will be all right.”

Something seemed to relax in Elder Maxson's face; the stern features softened slightly.

“I hope so too, Paladin. It's been a difficult time for everyone. With luck, this will mark an end to it and we can all get back to normal.”

That was about as close to an apology as she was going to get out of him, Margot realized. It would have to do.

_Sometimes we just have to work with what we've got..._

They exchanged salutes.

“ _Ad victoriam_ ,” she said.

“ _Ad victoriam_ ,” said Elder Maxson firmly. “Goodbye, de Havilland. I wish you and Knight-Captain Danse luck on your mission.”

“Thank you, sir. Goodbye.”

Elder Maxson left the command deck and went outside to the flight deck, to an accompaniment of salutes from the Paladins on guard as he passed them. Margot breathed out.

“Was that an apology I heard just now, Margot?” said Danse, with a hint of gentle mockery in his voice. “I never thought I'd hear that in this lifetime. You should inform Kellogg that he needs to turn up the heating system before Hell freezes over entirely.”

“Oh, shut up,” Margot said quickly. “Preston! We're leaving. Pack your things and meet us on the flight deck.”

“Yes, ma'am. I'll meet you there in five minutes.”

Danse grabbed one of the remaining sweet rolls from the plate.

“For Shaun,” he said, by way of explanation.

Margot patted him on the back.

“He'll like that,” she said. “Come on. Let's get out of here. I can't wait to get home.”

“Me neither. This has been one hell of a trip, hasn't it?”

“You can say that again...”

*

The noonday sun had reached its zenith by the time they got outside. Margot had packed their clothes from the previous night, hoping that Codsworth would forgive her for the kind of laundry duty he'd have to pull. The duffle bag swung from her shoulder as she walked.

“I thought I'd be running off the _Prydwen_ for my life, not walking out of here as part of the Brotherhood again,” Danse commented. “I can't believe you pulled it off, soldier. You risked everything for my sake - even your own life.”

“It was worth it,” said Margot right away.

Danse frowned.

“I'm not sure I agree. Being back in the Brotherhood raises some issues. Like where we go from here. I'm part of the Minutemen _and_ the Brotherhood of Steel. Two separate factions. What if our goals conflict? What am I supposed to do?”

“I'll make sure no conflict of interest arises,” Margot promised. “Remember, I'm in the same boat. I'm a Minuteman and one of the Brotherhood of Steel. The difference is that I'm in charge of the Minutemen and its goals. I'll do my best to make sure that we're all moving in the same direction. I don't intend to let the Minutemen do anything that would hurt the Brotherhood, and I'll do my best to steer Elder Maxson away from any decision which could have a negative impact on the Minutemen.”

Danse smiled.

“If anyone could dissuade him from doing something, I think it's you, Margot. Paladin Houshanou may have some serious competition.”

“I hope she and I cross paths one day,” said Margot. “She sounds like an extraordinary woman.”

“So are you,” said Danse, as they stopped just short of Dock Two and the _Sarissa_. “There's nobody in the world who would have gone to the lengths you did just to make the Brotherhood take me back.”

“Scribe Haylen might have,” Margot responded.

“True. I'm sure she would have spoken up for me. But you give far fewer – well, damns than she does about orders. And you have rather more political leverage.”

“Not to mention more artillery.”

“That too. Thank you, Margot. I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you.”

“You don't have to. You saved my life.”

“And you gave me back mine.”

Margot was about to make some lighthearted quip about how it was nothing when she found herself being pulled into an unexpected hug. She didn't even have time to try and put her arms around Danse first; he simply drew her in close to his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

Her initial reaction was shock. Danse only ever hugged people _in extremis_ , when disaster loomed and the people he cared about were exhibiting severe emotional distress. But he looked overjoyed; freed at last from the worries which followed him everywhere he went. And he was hugging her.

 _This is wrong,_ Margot thought, with a touch of alarm, even as she breathed in the smell of him and buried her face in his jacket. _Danse is my friend. My fellow Minuteman. My brother in Steel again. It's wrong to defy all the protocol that should keep displays of affection between soldiers in check. It's wrong to wear my dead husband's wedding ring around my neck and let another man hold me. It's wrong to enjoy this hug and not want it to end. It should feel wrong, all of it. But it doesn't. I hope he never lets me go... please, Danse, don't ever let me go._

She wasn't sure why it felt like such a big deal. After all, they were friends, weren't they? Friends hugged. She hugged Deacon, and Piper, and MacCready. She'd even hugged Cait once, although Cait had threatened to break her arms if she ever did it again. Why not Danse?

_Because I care about Deacon, and Piper, and MacCready, and all the others. They're my friends; hell, we're practically family. But this is different. Damn it, Cutler, you poor bastard, this is how you felt, isn't it? But when you finally admitted to your hopeless, unrequited love for your brother in Steel, everything fell apart and you lost him. I can't lose Danse. I don't care if I have to bury these feelings for the rest of my life - I'll do it if it means keeping him by my side. Life without him in it would be like living without ever seeing the sun again._

She extricated herself from the tight embrace, just enough to allow herself to look up at Danse. Sunshine and happiness illuminated his face. It made her heart ache to think that she might ever have to live life without him. But if she didn't, then the price she'd have to pay for his company would be to ignore the full extent of her feelings and hope that they would ebb away over time. She wasn't sure which was the more painful prospect.

Running feet behind her was, for once, a welcome interruption. She turned and saw Scribe Haylen hurtling down the catwalk toward them.

“Hey, Danse! De Havilland! You weren't going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?” Haylen said, grinning. “I just heard the news from Scribe Fitzgerald. You did it! I don't know how the hell you did it, Paladin, but you did it! You brought Danse home!”

“I'm not sure if I really did him any favors, Haylen,” said Margot, looking down at the catwalk. Guilt and shame were starting to hound her again, nipping at her heels like a pair of Raider guard dogs. “You've probably heard the concessions which Maxson forced us to make in return. I let our Elder strip Danse of his humanity more utterly than the Institute ever could have. I know I should have argued harder against it, but - ”

“It's all right,” Danse interrupted. “You did the best you could, Margot. He said the terms were non-negotiable; I doubt there was much you could have said. And you brought me back home to my brothers and sisters, which is more than I ever thought I could hope for. Thank you.”

“He's still a son of a bitch for designating you as a non-human, though,” Margot complained.

“Won't argue with you there,” said Haylen. Her smile disappeared, and she shook her head. “Even if that was what he thought it took to placate some of our more... die-hard brethren, that was cold, even for him. I think I'll have to give him a wide berth for a while. I managed to avoid that last insubordination charge after my little outburst with Proctor Quinlan, but I don't want to push my luck.”

“You're smarter than I am, Haylen,” said Margot. “I'm always pushing my luck. And luck almost pushed me off the _Prydwen_ in return.”

Haylen covered her mouth, horrified.

“I know - I heard! I can't believe Knight Payne was one of the Paragons. The guy was one of Rhys' friends - he's still in shock over it. Payne always seemed so... well, normal. Are you all right? You're not hurt, are you?”

“My manicure's seen better days, but I'm okay,” Margot quipped. “All thanks to Danse. He saved me like the great big hero he is.”

“There was nothing heroic about it, soldier,” said Danse, flushing and rubbing the back of his neck. “I did what I had to do to protect you from harm. Payne tried to murder his sister in Steel and he paid the price for his actions. Although I'll confess that I was shocked to discover that the Paragons had plotted to murder you.”

“ _You_ were shocked,” said Margot archly. “Imagine _my_ surprise, Danse. After all my adventures in the wasteland, you'd think I'd be accustomed to people wanting to kill me by now, but somehow I still find myself taking their efforts rather personally.”

“I meant that I thought it was a random act committed by a disgruntled soldier acting alone,” Danse hastened to clarify. “Not a manifestation of some sort of foul conspiracy hidden in our ranks.”

“I know what you meant, Danse. But I still - ”

Margot found herself interrupted again, this time by the sound of a Vertibird on final approach. It wasn't one that she recognized; it was painted a brilliant silver instead of the usual gunmetal gray, and gleamed in the sun. They turned to see it circle around toward Dock One and anchor itself in place. The rotors whined to a gradual halt.

“That must be the VIP Elder Maxson was talking about,” Margot remarked. “Wonder who it is?”

“That's the _Joyeuse_. She and her crew are stationed in the Capital Wasteland. I expect it's Star Paladin Casdin, or one of the higher-ranking officials from the Citadel,” said Danse, although he looked as unashamedly curious as she did. “I wonder who's coming to visit?”

They watched with interest as the Vertibird's doors opened. Two Star Paladins disembarked, but the figure which followed them was an unfamiliar one; not Power-Armored and imposing, but small, slight and female, dressed in a Scribe's outfit. The young woman reminded Margot of her little sister's beloved childhood doll, Felicity – fresh-faced and delicately pretty, with golden hair and wide blue eyes.

“Who the hell is that?” she said, bewildered. “She's a Scribe, isn't she? Don't tell me _she's_ the VIP? She's only – hey, Danse? What's up with you?”

Danse looked as though he'd seen a ghost.

“Sarah?” he blurted out, but then he caught himself, and shook his head. “No, it can't be. She's dead. And Sentinel Lyons was the proudest warrior there was. She wouldn't have been caught dead posing as a Scribe. But I have to say, the resemblance is striking. Who is that?”

The newcomer was looking around at the flight deck. She looked a little overawed, even intimidated, by her surroundings. Scribe Haylen groaned when she got a better look at the young woman's face.

“Oh, I know _exactly_ who that is,” she said. “I'm surprised he brought her here so soon, though. He's certainly not wasting any time.”

“Mind filling us in, Haylen? I think we missed the memo,” said Margot in a low voice, so that the new arrival wouldn't hear.

Scribe Haylen rolled her eyes.

“The boys back at the Citadel had her brought over from Lost Hills. She's some distant relative of Sentinel Lyons - a cousin, or something. Elder Maxson's been talking a lot lately about how he's the last of the Maxson dynasty, and how it's up to him to continue the family name. So Proctor Quinlan decided to put the word out to the West Coast Brotherhood to find a suitable candidate to be his bride. If by “suitable”, they mean “has a very unsettling resemblance to Maxson's childhood crush” _,_ then I guess they did their job. From what I've seen from our personnel files, she's the spit and image of Sarah Lyons.”

They heard Proctor Quinlan give a cry, from further up the catwalk; he came running to Dock One, with a huge, beaming grin on his face.

“Ah, there she is! Our newest arrival! Paladin de Havilland... Danse... perhaps you haven't heard the news. That young lady is Scribe Harper. She has the great honor of being betrothed to our Elder. They're to be married in a month, and after that happy event, she will preside over the Brotherhood of Steel as his consort.”

“Fuckbuddy,” said Scribe Haylen, _sotto voce_.

Proctor Quinlan glared at her.

“She is his _consort_ , Scribe Haylen, and you will treat her with the proper respect or be punished for insubordination!”

“Yes, sir,” muttered Scribe Haylen, but as soon as Proctor Quinlan scurried away to greet the new arrival, she added, with a hint of mischief:

“Fuckbuddy.”

Margot stifled a snort of irreverent laughter.

“Oh God. Poor girl. She's going to be married off to Maxson so she can have a succession of perfect Brotherhood babies for him. I just hope he doesn't have plans to start a harem and add a few extra wives to the roster. I'll have to respectfully decline.”

Scribe Haylen grinned.

“I'm glad I'm not the only one who sees how ridiculous this is, Paladin. They've just grabbed some poor wide-eyed girl from the West Coast and shipped her out here to be Maxson's brood mare for the rest of her life. What a fantastic honor, right?”

“Yeah, right,” Margot agreed. “ _Such_ an honor to pop out Squires until you either drop dead or have some sort of prolapse. I think I'd rather walk up to Liberty Prime and announce that I'm a card-carrying Communist. Quicker and less painful.”

Danse looked annoyed.

“Stop it, both of you,” he ordered, as they laughed. “Haylen, it's not appropriate to talk about the future wife of an Elder in such a disrespectful manner. I taught you better than that. And Margot – Paladin – you need to behave yourself. You _are_ capable of doing that, aren't you?”

“Only when no other option presents itself,” Margot said, with a sly grin. “Come on, Danse. Don't tell me you think that this is all absolutely wonderful, like that deluded fanboy Quinlan? Look at him, fawning over the future Mrs. Maxson like she's some sort of fairytale princess. Anyone would think he'd been appointed her official fairy godmother.”

Haylen laughed so hard that she had to lean against a railing for support. Her reaction made Margot crease up laughing too, much to Danse's irritation.

“I'm not sure why our Elder or his forthcoming nuptials are matters for ridicule,” he said, frowning. “Or his fiancée, for that matter. If you're objecting in some way to the match, I fail to see why. Arranged marriages for Elders are... unusual, but not unheard of. I can understand why extra care had to be taken to ensure that Elder Maxson's bride was genetically healthy and of suitable moral character. Carrying on the Maxson name is an important matter for the Brotherhood. I'm sure the Elder Council chose well and that she's a nice young woman. No doubt she'll make an excellent wife.”

“ _Fuckbuddy_ ,” Haylen whispered to Margot, and they both snickered again.

“That's enough,” Danse snapped. “Cease this behavior immediately, or I'll have you both up on insubordination charges!”

“Good luck with that, Danse,” said Margot, with a little smirk. “I'm your mentor now, remember? If one of us goes down, then so does the other, and we're both out. I almost died to get you back into the Brotherhood. Please don't let all my hard work and idle threats go to waste by snitching on me over a couple of snarky comments.”

“Then I suggest you show some respect toward the future Mrs. Maxson and welcome her in an appropriate fashion, so that your brush with death wasn't in vain,” said Danse, gritting his teeth slightly. “No matter how grateful I am for your efforts, Paladin, I won't tolerate insubordination toward our Elder or his future bride. They're the leaders of the Brotherhood of Steel and they both need to be treated with respect. Respect which both of you will show toward them, _or else_.”

“Sorry,” Haylen promised. “It won't happen again. Sir.”

“I sincerely hope not, Scribe Haylen,” Danse said severely. “It won't reflect very well on me if it does. I trained both of you, and if the command staff see disloyalty from either of you, they'll think I instilled it in you in the first place. And then that's it for me. Out of the Brotherhood for good, feet first this time.”

Margot stopped laughing straight away at that. He was right. Of course he was. She was being stupid and childish. She shook her head.

“Sorry, Danse. We're being rude, aren't we? I'm sure you're right and Maxson's fiancée is a very nice girl. But you have to admit that this situation is more than a little absurd.”

“This _situation_ is the betrothal of our Elder and it is not our place to object,” said Danse bluntly. “If Scribe Harper declines Elder Maxson's formal offer of marriage when they meet, then she will be returned safely to the Citadel, or to her home in Lost Hills. The Brotherhood may arrange marriages on rare occasions, but it doesn't enforce them; Scribe Harper is here entirely of her own volition and her answer alone will determine whether or not the marriage goes ahead. Her decision either way will be respected. She certainly doesn't require rescuing, if that's what you're getting at.”

“Well, as long as the poor girl isn't being coerced into the arrangement,” said Margot uncertainly, still not quite able to hide her discomfort at the thought. “But it's still pretty strange. Not how we did things back in the old world.”

“This isn't the old world,” Danse reminded her. “You're just going to have to get used to that, Paladin.”

“Yeah, I guess you're right. Where the hell is Preston?”

Preston came running along the catwalk, out of breath.

“Sorry I'm late, General!” he was panting. “You left the door to your quarters open! I had to find someone with a spare key to have them secured for you.”

Margot groaned.

“Must've forgotten to lock the door again. Thanks, Preston, you're a godsend. You all packed? Ready to head home?”

“Yes on both counts, ma'am.”

“All right. Let's go. Hey, Haylen, we'll see you later! _Ad victoriam,_ sister!”

“Yes, ma'am. _Ad victoriam!”_

Haylen saluted and left, marching down the catwalk back to the _Prydwen_ with the smallest of smiles on her face. Margot noticed her lips moving, very slightly, and guessed what she was probably murmuring to herself.

_Fuckbuddy. Oh boy. I hope Scribe Harper knows what she's getting herself into..._

Preston and Danse climbed aboard the Vertibird, then turned to help Margot up. She took their hands and let them pull her up into the aircraft. As the doors slammed shut and the engines whirred to life, she caught a glimpse of Proctor Quinlan leading the nervous-looking Scribe Harper by the hand, while Elder Maxson descended the steps of the _Prydwen_ grandly, like a king. The last thing she saw was the Elder stooping to kneel and kiss the young woman's hand, and then the Vertibird took off and spirited the Minutemen delegation away into a blindingly blue sky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another named Vertibird in this chapter - the Joyeuse ("Joyous") was the personal sword of Charlemagne, the first Holy Roman Emperor - the medieval French epic "The Song of Roland" described it as changing color thirty times a day. It was used in the coronation processions of various French kings and is still on display today in the Louvre. Seemed like the perfect name for an aircraft delivering a VIP :)


	9. Diamond City Blues - Part 1

It was a magnificently sunny morning, the kind which brought back memories of Margot's first summer in Sanctuary Hills. A hint of birdsong on the breeze; flowers blossoming in the yards; the smell of hamburgers cooking on Mr. and Mrs. Able's outdoor grill; the laughter of children playing on the swingset in the park.

The grass was dead, the flowers were dead, and so were Mr. and Mrs. Able. But Sanctuary Hills was still alive, although Tatos and Mutfruit grew in place of flowers, and the Ables had been replaced in their house by the Longs. Residents whistled as they carried buckets of water and tended to the crops in their yards. Somewhere in the distance, a two-headed Brahmin cow was lowing. Metal screeched as Sturges toiled over a broken shotgun at the weapons workbench.

Margot sat on the couch in the living room, staring out of the window and watching the world go by with a glass of scotch in her hand. It was eleven o'clock in the morning. Normally that was much, much too early for scotch, but she was so beside herself with anxiety that she didn't care.

Danse was gone. He'd wanted to go to Diamond City and gather some supplies for their excursion to the GNN Plaza. She'd offered to go with him, but he'd declined, reminding her that she should spend some time with Shaun before she embarked on another mission - particularly after her narrow escape from death on the _Prydwen:_

“ _I'll be fine, Margot. Don't worry. I'll be back soon.”_

“ _Are you sure you're going to be okay? I hate not going with you.”_

“ _While I appreciate your concern, I managed to survive over a decade of active service in the Brotherhood of Steel before I met you. I think I'll survive a solo supply run to Diamond City.”_

“ _But the Super Mutants - ”_

“ _I can handle those bastards in droves, Margot. I'll be fine.”_

“ _Look, why don't you take Dogmeat with you? He could use a good walk, and I'll feel better knowing you aren't going out there alone.”_

“ _If that will reassure you, then fine. Dogmeat! Here, boy!”_

She'd fussed over Dogmeat, strapping on some armor she'd stripped from the corpse of a Raider guard dog and fastening his collar over the top. Then she'd fussed over Danse, much to Shaun's amusement.

“ _Don't worry, Mr. Danse. Mom does that to me too,”_ he'd piped up, as she'd brushed some lint off Danse's shoulder.

At last, Danse had stepped back into his Power Armor and he'd set off, with the bag of caps she'd given him, a little trace of red lipstick on one cheek, and Dogmeat trotting happily beside him. She'd watched them go with a heavy heart, waiting until they were out of sight, then sighing and returning to the house.

She'd tried to pass the time by watching television. An old sitcom called _Those Crazy Kids_ , which had briefly interrupted the cartoons – much to Shaun's disgust – had in turn been interrupted by another broadcast by the AntAgonizer. Only Codsworth's pleas for calm had prevented her from taking out _Nate's Revenge_ and putting a 10mm round through the screen.

She'd offered to play catch with Shaun, but he'd declined; he'd found a magnifying glass at the scavenger workbench and had run out to the little playground behind the armory to search for bugs. Books hadn't been able to distract her from her worries for long; she'd picked up each volume on the shelves and set them aside again, one by one, after just a few pages. Magazines hadn't worked either. Copies of _Astoundingly Awesome Tales_ and _Hot Rodder_ had only served to remind her of Danse.

“Good grief, mum, is that _scotch_?” Codsworth said, from the doorway. He sounded scandalized. “Bit early for that sort of thing, don't you think? The sun's not even over the yardarm yet!”

“I know, Codsworth,” Margot said wearily. “I'm sorry. This is driving me to distraction. I can't stand it when he's away.”

“Are you referring to the pup, or to Knight-Captain Danse?”

“Both,” she sighed. “Maybe I should have gone out with Preston and the boys instead of moping around the house.”

Preston had been as good as his word; the moment they'd returned from the _Prydwen_ , he'd gone over to the ham radio in the Minutemen barracks and put out a call for Minutemen to help him investigate what was left of the ant nest at Oberland Station. They'd arrived during the afternoon, and had begun their Power Armor training that evening, continuing the drills well into the night. When Preston had decided that they were ready for battle, she'd watched the hastily-assembled squadron put on some of her Power Armor suits and head out into the dawn, metal gleaming pink and orange in the first sunlight of the day.

“Don't see what good that would have done, mum,” said Codsworth, with his equivalent of a shrug. “Knight-Captain Danse was right. You had a nasty shock on the _Prydwen_ , by all accounts, and some time at home will do you good. He'll be fine, don't you worry.”

“I hope so,” said Margot, although her heart seemed to be dropping even further into her chest. “I just hate it when he's not here, Codsworth. I miss him.”

“I know, mum,” said Codsworth sympathetically.

Margot took another sip of the alcohol. The burning sensation warmed her mouth, but not her heart; if anything, she felt even more numb than she had before she'd poured herself the drink. Even with all the noises going on outside, the house seemed too quiet. There was a Danse-shaped hole in her world, and his absence was so acute that she wondered if the pain in her chest was just her imagination, or if her heart really did ache.

“I shouldn't miss him the way I do,” she complained, when the silence finally became too much. “I miss him the way I missed Nate when he was deployed. That's ridiculous. Nate was thousands of miles away in Alaska. Danse hasn't even left the Commonwealth. I don't know why I feel like this. It's stupid.”

“Not at all, mum. I know that you care very deeply for him. It's only natural to be concerned for his welfare. But if there's anybody capable of taking care of himself, it's Knight-Captain Danse. Enemies usually take flight when they see him coming. I know I'd be positively _petrified_ of him if I were a Raider! So not to worry, mum. He'll come home safe and sound, you'll see.”

Margot swilled the scotch around her glass again.

“I hope you're right. If anything happened to him – oh God, Codsworth, I can't stand it. I miss him so much, it hurts. Why?”

“I suspect it's because you're in love with him, mum,” Codsworth supplied.

She gave him an irritable look.

“I'm not in love with Danse.”

“If you say so, mum. But although my programming usually prohibits this sort of thing, I feel nonetheless that I have to say something...”

“What?”

“Ahem. How does it go again? I believe Master Shaun told me – ah, yes. _Liar, liar, pants on fire._ ”

Margot's fingers clenched a little tighter around the glass.

“Codsworth, don't you have anything better to do than get on my nerves and lecture me about my feelings?”

“I can't say that I do, mum!” he said, more cheerily. “The drapes have been reinstalled, there isn't a speck of dust to be found in the house, the Mutfruit trees have been pruned, and all the laundry is done. Your dress shirt's come out _beautifully_ , by the way, although I fear Knight-Captain Danse's shirt is only fit for dishrags. For once, I have to say that there isn't a great deal to be done around here.”

“Oh, Codsworth,” she said, in an exasperated growl. “Just go and – and activate rest mode!”

“Very good, mum. Programmed to reactivate at eighteen-hundred hours. Don't hesitate to give me a nudge if you need anything in the interim.”

He settled down neatly on the floor, with his robotic arms tucked underneath him, and switched himself off. Margot grumbled something to herself, downed what was left of her scotch, then set the glass down on the coffee table and quietly hugged her knees to her chest.

_Damn it, Codsworth, I hate it when you're right..._

*

It was a pleasant day for a walk, thought Danse, as he strode alongside one of the Commonwealth's broken roads and listened to the sound of tall, dead grass brushing the legs of his Power Armor. Dogmeat padded obediently alongside him, his homemade dog armor clanking.

“Need some water, soldier?” he offered, after a while.

Dogmeat barked in response.

“Acknowledged. Let's take five. Hot out today.”

He stopped and took out a can of purified water from his duffle bag. Dogmeat sat down and waited for him to open it.

“It's important to stay hydrated out in the field,” Danse told him. “Especially in full armor.”

He knelt down beside Dogmeat and poured some water out into his hand. The dog lapped at the little puddle of water in the metallic palm of Danse's gauntlet, then whined softly for more.

“All right, here's a little more.”

Danse waited until Dogmeat had had his fill, then knocked back the rest of the container and put the empty can away. He smacked his lips. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until now; he'd been so set on reaching Diamond City by noon that he hadn't even considered the need to stop for refreshment. He stood up again.

“Okay, soldier, time to move out,” he ordered. “Ready?”

Dogmeat gave a bark, this one more cheerful than the last.

“Come on. Let's hit the road.”

When he leaned down to ruffle the fur on the dog's head, he noticed that a Brotherhood of Steel emblem had been painted onto the side of the armor, alongside the name “Paladin Dogmeat” and a registration number, “DG-K9P”.

“Technically speaking, the Brotherhood of Steel's canine personnel are given the honorary rank of Knight,” he told the dog solemnly. “But considering that you've served your mistress so well in battle, I think you've more than earned that field promotion, Paladin.”

Dogmeat panted happily.

“You're a good boy,” said Danse, and patted him on the head again. “Margot gave me some food for you. If we maintain our current pace, we can break out some of our field rations in Diamond City and have lunch there. Home again before sunset. Sound like a good plan to you?”

Dogmeat barked.

“I concur. Let's get going, soldier. Lot of ground to cover before we get there. At least we'll make good time if the weather stays this nice.”

They set off again, both with a renewed spring in their step. For once, there didn't seem to be any threats on the road. No matter how closely Danse scanned the horizon, he couldn't spot anything, even a single Mole Rat. Even the old Corvega factory - once a notorious Raider base - stood empty and silent, when potshots usually whistled past the ears of anyone careless enough to venture too close. The only other person he and Dogmeat had encountered on the road so far was a provisioner from Somerville Place, making the long journey north to Sanctuary Hills. It was unusual, Danse thought, but he wasn't about to complain. A quiet journey would be a quick one, and that meant more time to spend in Diamond City.

“Think we'll be able to find that law diploma for Margot?” he said, after a while.

Dogmeat gave a short, low bark.

“No, I can't say I'm optimistic either. But it's worth a try. Imagine the look on Margot's face if we brought it home for her. That would be worth all the caps in the Commonwealth, wouldn't it?”

Dogmeat made a soft _woof_ sound, as if in agreement.

“I think so too. I like making her smile. Perhaps I should bring her flowers again sometime. I think she liked the last bunch.”

“ _Woof!”_

“I'd do anything to make her smile,” Danse admitted.

He felt his face going red, and not because the sun was beating down on him with the force of a hundred brutal wasteland summers. He realized how foolish it was to attempt to hold a conversation with an animal which could only make an assortment of growls, barks and whines in response, much less admit candid _human_ feelings to a face which was covered in soft fur. Nevertheless, as they passed beneath the concrete pillars which supported the remains of the elevated freeway, he found himself lamenting:

“If only I weren't a synth. Then I'd still be a Paladin, like her, and we'd be free to pursue a relationship - with the appropriate permission from our commanding officer, of course. But that's never going to happen. Now that she knows what I am, I'm sure she wouldn't want to... well, you know. Still, even synths can dream. This one can probably dream on, but I can't help thinking about her all the same. She's the most beautiful woman in the Commonwealth. Maybe the world. I wish I could have asked her if she'd be mine. I would have given anything to hear her say yes.”

Dogmeat gave a quiet, despondent whine.

“I know. It's pointless to dwell on circumstances which will never come to pass. But it's nice to have someone to talk to about this sort of thing. Margot's friends would just laugh at me if I broached the subject with them. And I don't have any friends.”

Dogmeat whined again.

“Except Margot, of course,” Danse added. “But I can't tell her. She'd either laugh and assume I was joking, or attempt to let me down gently. The end result would be largely the same.”

He fell silent, and kept walking. The same few thoughts kept circling around in his head, like Vertibirds stuck in a permanent holding pattern around the _Prydwen_. Dogmeat must have noticed how lost in thought he was; he looked up at him and made a small, quizzical sound.

“I suppose I _could_ confide in Haylen, but discussing personal matters with your fellow Brotherhood personnel is generally considered unprofessional,” Danse said at last. He shook his head. “At least I can trust you with this, Dogmeat. After all, you're not going to tell anybody. You're a dog.”

Dogmeat growled softly.

“Well, you are,” Danse reprimanded him. “But if it's any consolation, soldier, I'm not human either. I can assure you it's nothing personal.”

Dogmeat's face relaxed into a happier expression. He nuzzled Danse's hand and felt the metal-clad fingers brush against his fur in return.

“There's a good dog. Say, how about some music? Margot says you like listening to the radio when you're out on the road with her. I managed to tune the communications array in my suit to pick up Diamond City Radio a while back. Let's see what's on the air...”

Danse switched on the radio, to be greeted immediately with the radio DJ's voice:

“ _Hey, folks, this is Travis “Lonely” Miles here, reporting live from Diamond City with the latest news! Word's getting out about some interesting developments with the Brotherhood of Steel. A source near Boston Airport confirms that their leader, Elder Maxson, recently met with the General of the Minutemen to discuss some sort of peace treaty. This may spell good news for the Commonwealth, although I'm also informed that the General almost took a tumble off the Prydwen and had to be rescued by one of her men. Remember, folks, if you find yourself on board a giant hot air balloon, be sure not to venture out in inclement weather! Those storms could blow you overboard without a second's notice... much less a minute. More details about the forthcoming treaty to follow.”_

Danse shivered. That had been much too close for comfort. Nightmares of watching Margot fall overboard to her death had plagued him all night, recurring every time he tried to lay down his head and close his eyes. In the end, he'd stayed awake to watch the dawn roll in. It had been better than watching her die for the fourth time in a row.

They were almost at the edge of the Charles River, and the waterfront. There were buildings here now, mostly abandoned and boarded up; they were passing through what was left of the outskirts of Cambridge and the waterlogged, radioactive crater which had once housed the CIT ruins and the Institute below it, toward Boston's skyline. On the other side of the river lay their destination. Danse kept the radio tuned in as he and Dogmeat crossed the makeshift wood-and-metal ramp which covered the worst of the damage, and stepped back onto the long bridge lined with streetlamps, although he was only half-listening to the news bulletins.

The wreck of the _USS Riptide_ was wedged in the gap beneath the half-raised bridge; Danse stepped over the ladder which bridged its rusting hulk without even thinking about it, and continued on down the other side. Dogmeat jumped the gap neatly and followed him.

“ _In other political news - much closer to home this time - campaigning is now underway for Diamond City's mayoral election. Faithful listeners may recall the demise of Mayor McDonough, who turned out to be a synth replacement, spying on the good people of Diamond City and reporting back to the Institute. Our very own Piper Wright of Publick Occurrences tried to alert us to the danger, and boy, we really should have listened... thankfully our favorite Vault Dweller was able to put down our mechanical Mayor and rescue his secretary from that hair-raising hostage situation. Now the Great Green Jewel is looking for a new, improved Mayor, and the applications just keep flooding in! The frontrunners so far include beloved bartender Vadim Bobrov, longtime Upper Stands resident Ann Codman, and a new arrival to Diamond City, one Robert Joseph MacCready, who recently purchased the vacant property affectionately known as Home Plate. Who will win? Only the good people of Diamond City will decide! Either way, you'll be the first to hear about the outcome, right here, exclusively on Diamond City Radio! For now, here's some more beautiful music – Billie Holiday, with “Crazy, He Calls Me”. We'll be right back with more news after this...”_

Soft jazz music filled the air around them. Danse sighed at the sound of sweeping strings and the warm, soulful voice of the long-dead Pre-War singer. Romantic sentiments about moving heaven and earth and accomplishing other impossible feats for your loved one were sweet enough to listen to, but at times like these, they hit a little too close to home.

“I love her,” he murmured sadly. “Damn it. I just wish I knew what to do about it.”

Dogmeat gave him a sideways glance, as if to say _“Hey, don't look at me, pal,”_ then sniffed, and continued across the bridge.

“That's not exactly helpful, soldier,” said Danse, but he found himself following the dog anyway.

They drew closer to the downtown district known as The Fens, and now the debris-strewn streets and crumbling buildings were beginning to press in around them. Danse looked around him more cautiously. Visibility was lower here, with obstructed lines of sight at every turn and countless hazards hidden in the ruins, and he knew that he would have to be more vigilant than usual. The area immediately surrounding Diamond City was crawling with Super Mutants; the green-skinned mutant brutes waited in the shadows of empty buildings to accost unwary travelers, either to kill and eat them, or to attempt to turn them into Super Mutants too.

Better men than Danse had fallen victim to those monstrosities. He knew better than to engage a whole horde of Super Mutants directly when he had only a single dog for backup, but all the same, Danse found himself half-hoping that they'd come out to confront him. With thoughts of a hopeless love still lingering in the back of his mind, and the resentment which accompanied that sense of futility, he was in the mood to kill something much bigger and uglier than he was.

“For the Brotherhood,” he muttered, and took up his laser rifle. “For the Commonwealth!”

“ _Woof!”_

 _For Margot,_ he added quietly. After all, he wasn't just here for supplies. The intel about her missing personal effects had led him here to Diamond City just as much as the need to stock up on ammunition and medical supplies. He imagined her face lighting up with joy at the sight of the gold pocket watch which had belonged to her late husband, and allowed himself to smile at the thought of her, and the way she'd said goodbye to him as he left Sanctuary Hills:

“ _Hey, Danse, wait up! You forgot something!”_ she'd called after him, chasing him down the street a short way until she caught up with him.

“ _What?”_

She'd stood up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, a short distance from his ear.

“ _There. For luck. Come home soon, okay?”_

Rendered all but speechless by the gesture, Danse had stammered a goodbye and forced himself to march away before Margot could see him blush. He'd discreetly wiped off the lipstick mark once he was out of sight – after all, he was out here representing the Minutemen and the Brotherhood, and it didn't do to walk around covered in other people's lipstick, as if he'd emerged from the confines of some den of ill-repute. That was the kind of thing for which he'd had to chastise Knight Rhys; emulating such behavior himself was unthinkable. All the same, he found himself raising his hand to his cheek every now and then, as if the mark were still there.

After some time lost in thought, Danse noticed that the radio was still playing. He shook his head, to clear out the jumble of thoughts and emotions which seemed to cloud his mind, and switched the radio off.

_Focus, man. You're in enemy territory here. Stay alert and keep your guard up, or -_

“That sound! What is it?!”

Danse stiffened, and pressed himself against a brick wall. Dogmeat began to growl softly, his hackles rising.

“Easy, boy,” Danse murmured. “Let's see where they're holed up first.”

He crouched down low and peered around the bullet-ridden remnants of a makeshift barricade to see where the deep, guttural voice had come from.

A flicker of movement drew his eye to the shell of an apartment building down the street. It was surrounded by Pre-War construction scaffolding, as if it had been badly damaged even before the bombs. He glared at the building, mentally daring whatever was inside to come out and investigate.

_Come on, you mutie bastards. You want a piece of this?_

With a hammering heart, he waited to see what emerged from the building. At last, a huge, hulking figure stepped out, green skin glistening in the sun. It was wearing crude metal armor and toting a rifle of primitive construction - the kind that Raider gangs assembled from metal pipes and whatever junk they could find.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” it roared. Behind it, he could make out the outlines of two more, squinting out into the sunlight, and another lurking deeper in the shadows.

Four Super Mutants. Two of the type the Brotherhood had nicknamed “Brutes”, a slightly more powerful “Enforcer”, and a heavily-armored “Butcher”. If there had been more of their brethren waiting in the wings, he might have been less willing to take them on, but four lower-level Super Mutants were nothing to write home about. He'd taken on worse enemies single-handed and always emerged victorious.

Danse raised his laser rifle and took aim at the Enforcer standing near the empty doorway.

“For honor!” he yelled. “For glory!”

He pulled the trigger, felt the _thrum_ of the weapon beneath his fingers as a laser beam burst from the barrel, and saw the Enforcer disintegrate into a cloud of ash.

“Target vaporized!” he announced proudly.

The direct hit to their green-skinned comrade seemed to infuriate the others; they bellowed with rage and started firing blindly out into the street.

“I'm gonna splatter your brains!” one of the mutants was hollering.

Dogmeat barked an angry response and darted off in their direction, running toward the apartment building's entrance and up the stairs. Danse saw the dog hurl himself up the stairs and clamp down hard on the arm of one of the Brutes.

“ _Paaaaiiin!”_ it screamed.

“Good boy!” Danse shouted. “Pin him down!”

He concentrated his aim as the Super Mutant struggled to free itself from Dogmeat's jaws. He breathed in sharply, held his breath, and fired.

The beam caught the Brute in the head. It reeled, but didn't fall. It retorted:

“We are unstoppable!”

Danse bit back his intended riposte. Bravado and clever comebacks were wasted on Super Mutants; the only language the Capital Wasteland's mutants had understood was violence. The Super Mutants here in the Commonwealth seemed to have a little more animal cunning at their disposal, if not actual intelligence; their weapons and tactics were more sophisticated than their brethren in D.C., although that was hardly saying much. They were certainly no match for a Brotherhood of Steel platoon. Recon Squad Gladius had been experienced Super Mutant killers; they'd wiped out dozens of the vile creatures on their long march to the Commonwealth. The infestation at Fort Strong should have been an easy fight, without casualties. If only Knight-Sergeant Dawes had followed orders and worn his damn helmet, he wouldn't have had his head smashed in by a Super Mutant's sledgehammer. The memory of seeing the man's skull explode in a shower of blood and brain matter still haunted Danse in the small hours of the morning.

He ducked at the sound of an automatic pipe rifle's chatter; a volley of lead took out some of the brickwork a few feet above his head, and he cursed himself for not taking his own advice on this mission.

_If only I'd worn a damn helmet myself. Margot's got one for her X-01 set, even if I don't. I should have borrowed hers. Or taken her old Knight suit instead. She's usually very particular about who uses her Power Armor, but I'm sure she would have made an exception in my case. Why didn't I ask her?_

“I'm gonna eat your legs when you're dead, human!” one of the Super Mutants was bellowing, as Dogmeat leaped up to attack again.

 _I'm not a human any more_ , Danse thought. Rage started to burn in his chest at the reminder. _And neither are you, you repulsive mutant! All because of the Institute and their disregard for the sanctity of human life! People shouldn't have to live in fear of things like this!_

“Die, mutant scum!” he yelled, and returned fire. This time the laser beam hit home, catching the Super Mutant right between the eyes. The creature slumped dead to the floor; its homemade rifle clattered from its grasp and fell to the ground.

“Noooooo!” howled the other Brute. “You killed my _brother!”_

Danse rarely lost his temper. Even under stress, he'd only needed to raise his voice a little to indicate his displeasure, and the men under his command had understood that all was not right with the world. But when he heard the word which had once meant everything to him, he exploded.

“How does it feel, you son of a bitch?” he hollered back. “You've killed a hundred of my brothers! Good men like Dawes, smashed to pieces! Butchered like animals! Turned into monsters like you! Cutler was _my_ brother and you made me kill him! I won't rest until you're all dead!”

He was expending fusion cell ammunition at a faster rate than he should have, but for once, he didn't care. The red mist of rage had him in its grip and all he could think about was to keep firing; to pull the trigger, over and over again, until every Super Mutant in The Fens lay dead around him.

“Just die, you filthy green bastards!”

The second Brute took several laser beams to the chest and collapsed with a dying roar. The remaining Super Mutant – the Butcher in roughly-forged metal armor – came rushing from the building, holding a thick bladed board over its head.

“Bleed! Bleed and die!”

Dogmeat flew out of the ruins behind it, barking furiously and trying to nip at the mutant's heels. The plucky canine's efforts were just enough of a distraction to cause the Butcher to falter in its steps, and attempt to kick Dogmeat away. It gave Danse the extra second he needed to react.

_Whommmm._

The Super Mutant staggered back, covering its eyes. With a swift motion, Danse withdrew his combat knife from its sheath, then ran forward and plunged it deep into the mutant's neck. Blood spurted from the wound; choking, the Butcher fell to its knees, and then to the ground as Danse kicked it square in the chest. A puddle of red formed around the body, flowing into the cracks of the asphalt and concrete beneath the dead mutant's head.

“Tango down,” said Danse out loud. His voice bounced off the brick walls and echoed back at him, slightly louder.

Dogmeat sidled up to him and licked his hand.

“Well done, Dogmeat,” Danse told him, and patted him on the head. “You were great out there, soldier. I think you deserve a commendation... remind me to tell Margot what a good boy you've been.”

Dogmeat made a happy noise, but then his ears pricked up, and he turned his head abruptly back toward the ruined building.

“What is it?” said Danse.

A second later, he heard it too; a low repeating tone, accompanied by a higher-pitched beeping. A muscular green figure burst from the depths of the ruins with a Mini-Nuke tucked under its right arm.

“Suicider!” Danse yelled. “Run!”

Dogmeat took off without hesitation, running down the street. Danse scrambled after him, trying to put as much distance in between him and the Super Mutant as possible. The infernal beeping seemed to be getting closer.

He turned and tried to shoot, but missed; the mutant simply laughed off the attack and kept running. Even when he broke into a sprint, there seemed to be no outpacing the creature. It followed him with dogged insistence and an ugly sneer, rapidly closing the distance between them.

With a triumphant yell, the Super Mutant raised its arm into the air, ready to throw down the nuke; Danse looked around frantically in search of cover, but saw only the remains of an old Deli-Mart in the opposite direction. He doubled back, ran into the building and dived behind the shop counter.

“Dogmeat! Hit the dirt!” he ordered.

Dogmeat came running, just in time; Danse grabbed him and pulled him close, throwing himself across the dog's furry body to shield him from the blast. The world went white, then orange. A roar of sound and fire passed over their heads, followed by a shower of brick dust, then blood and little fragments of flesh and bone. The Geiger counter on Danse's suit ticked madly for several seconds, then went silent.

Through the ringing in his ears, Danse heard Dogmeat whimpering beneath him.

“You okay, soldier?” he said, into the animal's fur.

Dogmeat whined again, but managed to struggle out from underneath him; Danse rolled over and saw that there was a splash of Super Mutant blood across the dog's hindquarters, but no sign of flesh wounds or broken bones. With a groan, he sat up and checked himself for injuries. His Power Armor seemed to have shielded him from the worst of the explosion, although there were some interesting scorch marks and several new dings. He picked a few lumps of bloody flesh off his arm with distaste, and flicked them away.

“Disgusting, cowardly mutants,” he said, shaking his head. “They're the scourge of the Commonwealth. Thankfully the Institute can't make any more to replace them. Pretty soon they'll be extinct... not soon enough, if you ask me. I hope I get to kill the last one myself.”

Dogmeat barked.

“I couldn't agree more, soldier. Come on. Let's get to Diamond City before more of those things find us. I should probably pick up some RadAway for you after that radiation exposure, too. I don't want to send you home to Margot glowing in the dark.”

He emerged from the wreckage of the building, slightly dizzy, and with his ears still ringing from the explosion. He noted the motto _“Protected by the Wall”_ , which had been painted on the side of the adjacent building, and looked up gratefully at the sunny sky, thanking the invisible stars that he'd lived to see another day.

“Hey, you!” a voice called out. “You need to be more careful, buddy! Those green bastards are everywhere! You goin' to Diamond City?”

Danse brought his eyes back down to earth, and the man standing further up the street; he was dressed in what had once been a Pre-War baseball catcher's padded uniform. It now served as a set of modified armor, emblazoned with Diamond City's distinctive white emblem.

“Yes, sir,” he said politely. He recognized the man as one of the city guards.

“Then you'd better get inside, pronto, before all that commotion attracts more of them! C'mon, this way!”

He led Danse and Dogmeat past the small makeshift guard tower and its whirring defense turret, and through a ramshackle gatehouse structure made from steel, corrugated iron and sheets of plywood. They emerged into a wide, paved plaza with a copper statue placed reverentially in the center; it depicted some famous Pre-War baseball player. Margot would probably have recognized the man's face, and known his name, but Danse had known very little about baseball, other than the fact that a few kids in Rivet City had sometimes played the game on the aircraft carrier's flight deck. It was part of an unfamiliar world, one which had been lost long ago in an atomic blast.

The vast structure which dominated the plaza was Boston's famous baseball stadium. The old ballpark now housed the shanty town known as Diamond City, where humans sheltered from the dangers of the wastes and did their best to live in peace and prosperity. It was colloquially known as the “Great Green Jewel” of the Commonwealth, and its riches attracted people from all over the region. Traders, mercenaries, weary travelers, people trying to find lost loved ones, or settlers looking for a better life – sooner or later, they all seemed to pass through Diamond City's colossal metal gate.

“Hey, Danny!” the guard was yelling into the intercom. “Open up, willya? Got some guy out here with his dog, says he wants in. I think he's one of those Brotherhood guys. Doesn't look like their kind of Power Armor, but...”

He turned and gave Danse a suspicious up-and-down look.

“What do you want in for, anyway? You with the Brotherhood of Steel?”

“Yes, sir. Knight-Captain Danse.”

The guard gave a start of recognition.

“Danse? I thought you were supposed to be with the Minutemen. One of the General's boys.”

“Currently affiliated with both factions, sir,” Danse replied. “General de Havilland – _Paladin_ de Havilland – and I are running joint operations with the Brotherhood and the Minutemen. I'm here for supplies. And possibly medical attention. I think we took a dose of rads when that Suicider tried to take us out.”

As usual, the mention of Margot's name was enough to change everything. The guard seemed to settle down again.

“Hey, if you're with the General, then that's fine by me,” he said, sounding much more relaxed. “She's done a lot for this city and if you're on her team, then you're more than welcome. C'mon, let's get you two inside. Danny, open up already!”

With a screech of protesting metal, the gate opened up, rising like the portcullis of some ancient castle.

“All right, go on in. Try not to cause too much ruckus. And I don't want to hear about your dog biting anybody, okay?”

“That won't be a problem, sir. He's well-trained and won't bother anyone.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.”

Danse entered the stadium and felt cool, dark shade replace the heat of the day. He walked past the old ticket office and drinks stand, giving a polite nod to a guard as he passed. Dogmeat followed at his heel, occasionally stopping to sniff the dust on the floor. They headed up the ramp through the main entrance and ascended the concrete stairs.

At the top was fresh air and sunlight, and below them lay the sprawling city which now occupied the old baseball field. The scrap-metal buildings were surrounded by empty rows of stadium seats, rising high into the air. Reminders of the old world, like floodlights and advertising billboards, were still in evidence, but they were being rapidly eclipsed by an influx of new buildings, people, and the kind of background noise he hadn't heard since his last visit to Megaton, back in the Capital Wasteland.

He'd been here before, with Margot. It was noisier and busier than he remembered. People pushed past him without a word as he walked down the steps, wondering where he should go first.

Someone tugged at Danse's arm. He looked down and saw a bald-headed boy in ragged clothing grinning at him.

“Hey, mister! Watch your Power Armor for ya? Leave it here with me and I'll make sure nobody messes with it. Just ten caps for the rest of the day! You won't find a better offer!”

Danse shook his head.

“The offer is appreciated, citizen, but no, thank you.”

The boy gave him a long, calculating look.

“You can't wear that stuff around town, mister. You'll wear out the fusion core in no time, and the traders don't like it when the Brotherhood of Steel guys come stomping around the market. Shakes the stock right off the shelves. You're better off leaving the suit here with me, trust me.”

Danse gave in. The little urchin was probably right about not wearing out the fusion core.

“All right. Ten caps?”

The boy grinned.

“You got a deal! Name's Sheng Kawolski. I run the water purifier near the reservoir, but now that we get more of the Brotherhood boys coming here on leave, I figured I'd make a few extra caps taking care of their Power Armor for 'em while they're here in the city. You just park your suit right here with me and I'll take care of it.”

Danse fumbled for the bag of caps which Margot had entrusted to him, and counted out ten bottlecaps into the child's waiting hand.

“Don't scratch it,” he warned, stepping out of his Power Armor and removing the fusion core from the housing. “X-01 armor is valuable property, citizen. If anything happens to it after I entrust it to your care, I'll come looking for you. You don't want that.”

The boy grinned.

“Don't worry, it's in good hands! Enjoy your visit to Diamond City!”

Danse put away the caps, and took out his shopping list instead. The torn, dirty piece of paper read: _Ammunition; fusion cores; Stimpaks; Rad-X and RadAway._ Lower down, after the items Margot had added in an untidy lawyer's scribble, he'd inscribed, more neatly: _Wedding dress; gold watch; silver locket; pearl necklace; law diploma_.

“So where do we start?”

Dogmeat gave an indecisive whine. He was better at sniffing out enemies than bargains.

“Some help you are.”

Danse looked around him. The first thing he set eyes on was a building which seemed to have been assembled from an old trailer; a large printing press was visible inside, and the sign read “Publick Occurrences”. Outside it was a dark-haired girl, about twelve years old, dressed in mismatched clothes and a brown jacket. She was handing out newspapers to passers-by.

“Free paper to newcomers!” she was calling out. “This one's hot off the press!”

Danse recognized the girl as Piper's younger sister, Nat Wright. He decided not to greet her, but found his arm being grabbed anyway.

“Hey, I know you! You're Paladin Danse! The guy who got kicked out of the Brotherhood of Steel!”

“Knight-Captain Danse,” he corrected her. “And actually, I'm back in the Brotherhood, thanks to Paladin de Havilland. I'm re-enlisting in a few days.”

Nat's face brightened.

“Breaking news, huh? I'll have to tell Piper. You want a free paper, Mr. Danse?”

“I never say no to free intel. I'll take one, please.”

“Sure thing. Here you go.”

She handed him a roughly-printed newspaper. Danse unfolded it and read the cover page:

“ _Programmed to Please: My Life as an Institute Sexbot. Exclusive interview with an escaped synth love slave!”_

He stopped, shocked, and looked down at the girl.

“I hardly think this is appropriate content for a family newspaper, citizen.”

Nat looked embarrassed, and shuffled her feet.

“Uh, yeah. Piper wouldn't let me read this one. She wouldn't even let me set the type. I kept offering to help, but she said she'd take care of it. First time she's never let me proof an article for her. She was acting kinda weird. Kept saying it was grown-up stuff and I wouldn't be interested.”

Danse folded the newspaper with care. Margot would probably be amused by the headline, and there were undoubtedly other items of interest in the paper besides salacious exposés.

“Thank you,” he said gravely. “I'll be sure to review it later. _Ad victoriam_.”

“Yeah, whatever. Hey, you – want a copy of the latest news?”

She'd already turned her attention to the next prospective reader. Danse shrugged, and moved on. He barely made it five feet before the next marketing pitch, this time from the barber's shop.

“Hey, pal, need a haircut? Fifteen caps!” called out a young man in a red letterman jacket.

Danse scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. His hair had been getting a little longer than regulations permitted. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd shaved.

“Sounds good,” he said out loud.

“Sure thing. Just take a seat and I'll get you all spruced up. What's it going to be today?”

Danse went to sit down in the wooden chair. Dogmeat sat down beside him, curling up next to his feet and then stretching out across the floor.

“Just a trim, please.”

“And the beard?”

“Same again.”

“All right! Now where did I put those scissors...?”

The barber put a worn towel around Danse's shoulders – it smelled of pomade and shaving cream – and reached over for the pair of scissors sitting on the dresser.

“Wash first, or just the trim?” the man asked.

Danse looked up at him.

“Why? Does the wash cost extra?”

“Nah, it's included in the price, but plenty of folks come in to get their head shaved and figure what's the point in washing it first, so I always ask.”

“In that case, I'll take you up on the wash,” said Danse. “I ran into a Suicider outside the walls. I think there's still some blood in my hair from the incident. Not mine, thankfully.”

The barber cringed.

“Yeesh! You were lucky. One of those green bastards got a trader on his way out of the city last week. Nothing left of him but bits. All right, let's get you cleaned up. Name's John, by the way,” he added, by way of introduction.

“Knight-Captain Danse, Brotherhood of Steel,” replied Danse. “Or Captain Danse, Commonwealth Minutemen. Depends who you ask.”

John broke into a grin.

“Oh yeah. I think I saw you with the General once. Pretty woman. _Beautiful_ hair. You know she's single, right?”

“She's a widow,” said Danse shortly.

“Yeah, I heard,” said John. His smile disappeared, and he shook his head. “Lost her husband and her kid to the Institute. Sad story. Maybe you could put a smile back on her face. Word on the street is she likes you.”

Danse pointedly ignored the comment. It didn't take long for the barber to realize that that particular avenue of conversation had reached a dead end; he changed the subject almost effortlessly, returning to the safer realm of small talk.

“So what brings you to Diamond City today? Shopping?”

“More like a supply run,” said Danse, as the barber rolled the chair back toward the sink and started to fill it with water. “But I'm also trying to track down some stolen property. Scavengers went through General de Havilland's house while she was trapped in Vault 111 and took some personal items of hers. Do you know where I might find a woman named Becky Fallon?”

“Becky?” said John, upending a shampoo bottle. “Yeah, her store's just down the stairs on the left. Why? They sell her some of that stuff?”

Danse nodded.

John gave a low whistle.

“She won't be happy to hear it was stolen. She's a respectable trader, not a fence; I wouldn't like to be in those scavvers' shoes when she finds out they've used her to move stolen goods. Okay, can you lean back for me?”

“How about the supply store?” said Danse, tilting his head back. “I understand it's run by a robot.”

“Oh, you mean Diamond City Surplus,” said John, nodding. He started to massage shampoo into Danse's hair. “Yeah, Myrna runs it during the day, and the robot, Percy, takes over at night. They're always open. Same story again?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Well, good luck getting any of that stuff back from Myrna. She's more of the “finders keepers” type. You might have more joy with Percy, if you can stand to wait around till after hours. If Myrna doesn't cooperate or starts yelling about synths, just tell her you'll sic the guards on her if she doesn't hand it over. Don't let her give you any crap about it.”

“Noted.”

Danse closed his eyes and listened to the sound of warm water swishing around his head. For once, he felt comfortable enough to take a nap. He wondered if he could get away with it, or if he'd wake up in some side alley, robbed blind and with his clothes unaccountably missing. Knight Rhys had told him some hair-raising stories about Diamond City, although they invariably ended in Knight Rhys taking on an entire bar's worth of people in a fistfight, winning single-handedly, and whisking some gorgeous bystander off her feet while the survivors of the bar fight bought him drinks out of sheer admiration, so he harbored more than a few doubts about their veracity.

The barber picked up the towel and rubbed Danse's hair dry.

“Sheesh, you weren't kidding about the blood - that water's filthy,” he commented. “Okay, sit up and stay still for me. I'm going to give you a trim. Just a little off the top, right?”

“Affirmative.”

Danse sat up and watched people walk past the salon while the barber's scissors snipped at his hair, blades dancing delicately around his scalp. He could hear shouting somewhere in the distance, but couldn't make out the words.

“What's all the commotion about?” he said at last.

John laughed.

“The yelling? Ah, don't worry, that's just the election. Some of the mayoral candidates are giving speeches.”

“I see,” said Danse politely. “Who's got your vote, citizen?”

“Probably that MacCready guy,” said John, shrugging. “Ann Codman's a good customer and my mom likes her, but... I don't know. Between you and me, her attitude kind of stinks. And Bobrov's a great guy to hang out with for a few drinks, but he's not the most reliable guy in the world. Always getting himself into scrapes. I remember the time he got himself kidnapped. You know you're in a real jam when you have to rely on _Travis_ to come to your rescue. Thankfully your boss was around to help out, or Bobrov would still be stuck in a Raider den somewhere. Man, oh man. General de Havilland's something else, isn't she?”

Danse let out an involuntary sigh at the mention of Margot. An image of her face swam before him; dark eyes and ruby-red lips, framed by gentle waves of dark brown hair. No matter how much he tried to banish the thought of her with reminders of chilly notions like protocol and decorum, she was there, at the back of his mind – beautiful, beguiling, occasionally maddening, but always his favorite person in the world. Whenever he thought of anything, he somehow ended up thinking of her. She was every song on the radio, and every star in the sky; she was the taste of grape Gum Drops, the smell of melon blossoms, and the thrill of the forbidden. He couldn't forget the shameful surge of joy he'd felt when he'd pulled her back onto the _Prydwen_ and she'd clung to him as if he were the only real thing left in the world.

“She certainly is,” he said at last.

“Hell of a woman,” John agreed. He picked up a straight razor from a tray. “So hey, did you hear about that AntAgonizer character? Trying to take over the world with giant ants or something. What's the deal with that?”

*

Margot sat on her bed and hugged her pillow. She'd paced the house restlessly, back and forth, but it had done little to help her pass the time. The Longs hadn't needed any help with the crops. For once, none of the other settlements needed her help either. Shaun was still busy searching for caterpillars in the playground's dry brown grass, and when she'd approached Sturges' workshop to ask if there was anything he'd needed, he'd interrupted her with a curt “I'm busy”. Even the traders down at the market had hinted that perhaps she needed a hobby.

The radio hadn't been any help at all. Every song had reminded her of Danse. When she'd heard Tex Beneke's “A Wonderful Guy”, she'd burst into tears and thrown her whiskey glass at the wall. The sound had been loud enough to shake Codsworth out of rest mode and motivate him to rush off to find a broom.

“This is ridiculous,” she said out loud, and wiped her eyes. “I'm not in love with Danse. I'm not. _I'm not._ I can't be. I love my husband. He'll always be my sweet, brave, wonderful Nate, no matter what.”

“Mum, you really must stop moping,” Codsworth chided her, from the next room. “It simply isn't healthy. Why don't you go out for a walk? Some fresh air and exercise will do you the power of good, I'm sure!”

Margot put down the pillow.

“I suppose it couldn't hurt. Maybe I'll take a stroll up to Vault 111.”

“Paying sir a visit, mum?” said Codsworth, as she got up and walked down the hall.

“I think so,” Margot replied. “About time I reminded myself what's really important.”

“I don't think anybody could claim that you've forgotten about the husband, mum. On the contrary, you do all you can to keep his memory alive, which I must say is commendable,” said Codsworth dutifully. His expression changed to something a little more uncertain. “However, I can't help but notice that you've been visiting him rather a lot lately. Is everything all right, mum? You seem rather... well, _preoccupied_ with the fact that he's gone. More so than usual.”

“What, am I not allowed to mourn my dead husband now?” Margot said, narrowing her eyes. “Codsworth, I think I'm going to have to give your programming an overhaul. I don't think General Atomics intended you to sound quite this judgmental.”

“No need for that sort of thing, mum,” said Codsworth. He sounded rather hurt by the suggestion. “All I meant was - oh, bother, I suppose I might as well be upfront about it. While I understand that you loved sir very much and that you still miss him, all that time you spend down there in the dark, brooding over his death... I hate to say it, mum, but quite frankly, it's _morbid_. Perhaps it's about time you gave sir a proper burial, like Knight-Captain Danse suggested.”

“Perhaps it's about time you told Danse to mind his own damn business,” Margot retorted. “Nate was, and _is_ , my husband. So what if he's dead? I'll bury him when I'm good and ready. Or maybe I'll keep him exactly where he is and see if Doctor Amari can find a way to bring him back, or get a new synth body to put him in, or – or something! I promised that I'd never stop fighting for my family, Codsworth. I can't just give up on Nate when I haven't exhausted all my options. There must be a way to revive him!”

“Mum, even if you were able to bring him back somehow... are you quite sure that's what he'd want?” Codsworth ventured. “Remember how frightening it was for Mr. Valentine when he awoke to find that he wasn't _him_ any more, and that the world had ended without him? It took him a great deal of time to come to terms with his new circumstances, and although in my opinion he's dealt with it all admirably, he still expresses the fact that he finds it difficult to let go of his past self. Sir might not cope as well with the transition – or the news of what happened to poor little Master Shaun after he was kidnapped by those beastly Institute thugs. He might well go stark raving mad, or fall into a terrible depression and decide that he wants to end it all. And what would become of you then, mum? You would have lost him all over again.”

“It's worth a try, isn't it?” Margot said helplessly. “You never know. It might turn out all right...”

“You know it wouldn't, mum,” Codsworth said, in firm but gentle tones. “Remember Knight-Captain Danse and how devastated he was to find out that he wasn't the person he thought he was? It's not unreasonable to point out that a similar crisis of identity might befall poor, dear sir. It simply wouldn't be right to subject him to such an ordeal.”

“Curie was fine,” Margot protested. “We transferred her personality into a synth body and she couldn't be more thrilled to be up and about!”

“Mademoiselle Curie _wanted_ to become a synth, mum,” Codsworth reminded her. “That was her express wish, and it was very good of you to make it come true. Sir, however, expressed no desire whatsoever to be brought back from the dead. Quite the opposite. You do know that he requested a “Do Not Resuscitate” order in the event that he were to become seriously ill and – um, shuffle off his mortal coil?”

“Being terminally ill and deciding not to continue with treatment is _not_ the same as being shot dead in front of your wife and child!” Margot snapped. “If they'd treated Nate's wounds instead of stuffing him back in that frozen fucking coffin and leaving him to suffocate, he might have been okay! He would have fought for the chance to come back and be with us, I know it! He didn't survive Anchorage and nuclear war just to be murdered in the one place he should have been safe! He didn't want to die, Codsworth! I can still save him - I _know_ I can!”

“Please, mum, I implore you to listen to reason!” Codsworth begged her. “Sir is _dead!_ Ask Mr. Valentine and Knight-Captain Danse if they think it's a good idea to try and revive him after all these years! You know what they'll say! Even if you could wake him up again in a new body, the shock of this world alone could kill him! And what will happen when you grow old, mum, and he doesn't? How would he feel to have been brought back from the dead, only to watch everyone he's ever known and loved grow old and die without him?”

“If I survived being brought back out of limbo after two hundred years, Codsworth, then so can he!” Margot insisted, raising her voice. “Nate was the strongest person I ever knew! He'd be able to cope!”

“Very possibly, mum, but he might not want to! Please at least _consider_ the possibility that it might be better to allow him to rest in peace!” Codsworth pleaded. “Surely it's better to move on and let him go than condemn him to an immortality he never would have wanted?”

“Don't tell me what to do, Codsworth!” she exploded. “And don't tell me what Nate would have wanted! You have no idea what he would have wanted! You have no right to tell me what to think and feel when you know damn well you can't do either of those things yourself!”

A deathly hush fell across the room.

“Perhaps not, mum, but I can still endeavor to understand,” said Codsworth quietly. “I waited for over two hundred years for someone to come home. Not because I was programmed to do so, but because I imagined how dreadful you would all feel if you and sir and young Shaun were to emerge from the Vault, only to find that there was nothing left to come back to. I knew that it was entirely possible that the three of you might have perished, but I waited regardless, in the hope that I'd be able to greet you upon your return and help you come to terms with what happened, so that we could all move on together. As a family. Don't you see? I'm trying to _help_ you, mum. Please try to understand that there's no need to spend the rest of your life mourning over the past and what could have been, when there's a perfectly good future waiting right under your nose.”

Margot scowled at him.

“Codsworth, if you're implying that I should throw myself at Danse for the sake of whatever cookie-cutter fairytale ending you think I deserve, then you must have a screw loose somewhere! What about my duties to the Brotherhood of Steel, and my ethical responsibilities as the commander of the Minutemen? I also have Shaun to think about! And even if I didn't have to consider any of those issues, Danse would be in the same position as Nate 2.0 if we were to get together. I'd still grow old and die, and leave him behind to grieve for me for all eternity. How does that help anyone?”

“Well, I think it would help _you_ , mum,” said Codsworth, with a little shrug.

“Codsworth, much as I hate to admit it, what I want isn't necessarily the best thing for everyone else,” said Margot, more wearily. “There's more to life than me and my needs.”

“Not as far as I'm concerned, mum,” said the robot loyally.

Margot sighed impatiently.

“Just face facts, Codsworth. The world is bigger than me, and other people's happiness is more important than my own. And I'm a grown woman, okay? I don't need your help with this. If I want to move on, then I will. If I don't, then don't presume to tell me that I should. Now I'm going to see Nate. I'll be back later. Tell Shaun we're having Radstag stew for dinner tonight.”

 _Humans,_ thought Codsworth, internally sighing, as the front door slammed and high heels clicked down the concrete path. He'd never understand them. They were the most infuriatingly illogical creatures – he knew for a fact that his mistress was a good woman, warm-hearted and generous, but on occasions such as these, her behavior was utterly incomprehensible to him. Sometimes he found himself wondering if even _she_ knew what she was doing. But she was family, and he was honor-bound to stand by her side, even if she was stubbornly refusing to acknowledge how she really felt about things... or people.

He busied himself with straightening up a few odd items around the house, then hovered patiently near the front door and waited for her to come home.

*

Danse found himself standing in a strange room filled with glassy-eyed plastic mannequins. The walls and ceiling were adorned with the striped canopies of old patio tables, much like the one in Margot's back yard, and the room was lined with dressers and stacks of folded clothes.

Becky Fallon, owner and proprietor of Fallon's Basement, was standing in the corner of the room, calmly smoking a cigarette. She was an older woman with carefully-styled gray hair; when she unfolded her arms, the movement was slow and graceful, as if she had all the time in the world.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Greetings, citizen. I'm looking for Becky Fallon.”

“You've found her,” said the woman, without any emotion. “Might I ask what you want with her?”

“Do you know General de Havilland?”

She inclined her head in a short, sharp nod.

“I do. She comes here every so often to look for Pre-War clothes. She wears them very well. Of course, they were made for women like her. Elegant, stylish... and born before the Great War, which means she knew a thing or two about how people wore all those lovely dresses. She's got one hell of an edge on the rest of us in that regard. Why do you ask?”

“A few years ago, while she was still in the Vault, some scavengers came through Sanctuary Hills and looted the houses there,” Danse explained. “They took several sentimental items which belonged to her. We caught up with one of them and he admitted that he'd sold some of them to you. A pearl necklace, and a wedding dress. I was hoping you would be able to assist me in recovering them.”

The trader made a face.

“I should have known. Simon and his friends were always poking around in places they didn't belong, even when they were children. I was so excited to see a real pearl necklace after all these years that it never occurred to me to ask him where on earth he'd found it. My grandmother owned one once, many years ago. She had to sell it in the end, to keep the roof over our heads... I cried for days. I never thought I'd see anything like it again – but I'm sorry. I'm digressing. Of course I'll help if I can. The General has always been a good customer. So you said she was missing a pearl necklace and something else?”

“A wedding dress,” said Danse. “I apologize for the lack of a proper description. I assumed that you'd know such a thing if you saw it. I can't imagine there are many Pre-War wedding dresses in circulation nowadays.”

Becky Fallon chuckled softly.

“No, there certainly aren't. As it happens, I do have a wedding dress in stock, and I think it may be the one you're looking for. It's in superb condition. I did try to sell it, several times, but it was well out of the price range of my usual customers. Even one or two future brides in the Upper Stands blanched when I told them what they'd have to pay for it. But I wasn't about to let something special like that go for a measly handful of caps. Here, let me show you what I mean...”

She pulled open a dresser drawer and took out a box adorned with a pattern of pink and white roses. She removed the lid, unfolded the box's contents, and held the gown up for inspection.

“Look at that,” she said, with a dreamy sigh. All the emotions she'd hidden in her face were suddenly laid out on display, like the shoes and hats she sold. “Isn't that the most gorgeous dress you've ever seen?”

Danse had never been interested in clothes. He'd taken pride in his uniform and dutifully polished his boots, because that was what the Brotherhood of Steel expected of its soldiers, but that was the beginning and end of his interest in sartorial matters. If ever he'd found himself in awe of the skills of Pre-War fashion designers, however, it had to be now. He'd expected something as daring and outrageous as Margot herself, but the wedding dress was surprisingly modest, and more beautiful than he could have imagined; a pure white ankle-length gown with a full, layered skirt and long sleeves, made from silk and patterned lace. It seemed to glow softly in the shop's dim light, as if it had been touched by the light of the moon.

“There's a veil here, too. And a pair of shoes,” said Becky, pulling them out of the box.

Her words seemed to have broken the spell; Danse shook his head, snapping himself back into the here and now. He'd been trying to picture Margot as a bride, smiling shyly and holding a bouquet of flowers as she walked toward her husband in that perfect white dress. It was difficult to imagine such a thing when he'd never witnessed it for himself. The few Brotherhood brides who'd opted for a ceremony instead of the usual paperwork had always worn their uniforms, holding their heads up with the fierce pride of a true sister in Steel. The future Mrs. Maxson would almost certainly do the same. He couldn't imagine the Scribe he'd seen on the _Prydwen_ in a stunning Pre-War wedding gown. Margot, though... she must have looked like a princess from a storybook.

_The most beautiful woman in the world._

“May I see?” he said at last.

“Sure, take a look. Make sure your hands are clean first. Don't go getting wasteland grime over it, because it'll never wash out. And if it isn't hers, I'll never be able to sell it.”

Danse inspected the dress with care, then turned over the cardboard box for closer examination.

“It's hers,” he said, straight away. He'd seen the faint, faded handwritten ink of the words _“M. Fontaine – for collection 7/22/2075”_ , written across a yellowed, peeling label. Fontaine had been her maiden name, Margot had told him once, in passing, although he couldn't recall when she'd mentioned it. Over a campfire, perhaps, or out on patrol one day with Haylen and Rhys. It had been strange to think that she'd once been Margot Fontaine, instead of Margot de Havilland, the name he'd always known her by.

_Well, she'll never be Margot Danse, that's for sure. What woman in her right mind would marry a synth? Dream on, soldier._

Becky Fallon gave him a sharp, inquisitive look.

“How do you know?”

He pointed out the label, and told her. The woman's eyebrows arched upward.

“Well then, I suppose it must be hers. Damn it. I paid a king's ransom for this dress. I doubt I'll ever see a sniff of those caps again. But sometimes you just have to cut your losses in this business. The Upper Stands folks won't come down here if they think they'll be rummaging through stolen goods - God forbid that they dirty their hands on that sort of thing. I'll take a hit to my finances over my reputation any day. Please take it back to its rightful owner, with my compliments.”

“You mentioned the necklace,” Danse reminded her, as he repacked the dress and accessories.

Becky Fallon let out a small groan and covered her eyes.

“Yes... oh dear. I'm afraid that particular item may be more difficult to recover. You see, I already sold it. Pity you didn't come a few days sooner, because Ann Codman just snapped it up. She said she wanted to wear it to her inauguration as Mayor.”

“I thought you had to be elected Mayor in order to be inaugurated,” said Danse, with a little frown. “The election is still underway, isn't it?”

“Yes, I thought it was a tad presumptuous, but the woman is my best customer,” said the shopkeeper, stubbing out her cigarette in a worn yellow ashtray. “I wasn't about to tell her what she could and couldn't take home with her when she was shoving a bag full of caps in my face and telling me to keep the change.”

“I suppose I'll have to tell Margot that her arch-nemesis is walking around Diamond City wearing her necklace,” said Danse reluctantly. “She won't be pleased about that. Unless of course I get Diamond City Security involved and tell them that the necklace needs to be returned to its original owner. They might be able to arrange for its safe return.”

“No, don't!” said Becky Fallon. She looked panic-stricken at the thought. “Please - if this got out, I'd be ruined! There must be another way of recovering it! Perhaps you could... I don't know, appeal to her better nature?”

“I don't think that's possible,” Danse said apologetically. “I'm afraid I've met Mrs. Codman before. She doesn't appear to _have_ a better nature.”

“Then you'll just have to offer her a refund!” Becky insisted, rummaging in a drawer. “Here – give her the money and tell her that she can have a hundred caps of store credit on top, but she can't keep the necklace. Tell her I had an assayer's report back and he was sorry to discover that they were fakes after all, and I send my sincere apologies. Anything you think will prevent her from screaming from the rooftops that my suppliers and I are thieves. Offer her a few extra caps as a finder's fee. Get Nick Valentine involved if you have to. _Anything!_ ”

Danse found a bag of bottlecaps being shoved on top of the dress box.

“Thank you,” he replied. “I'll attempt damage control as best I can, citizen. Be advised that she may still react badly, but I'll certainly do my best to ensure she doesn't drag the good name of Fallon's in the dirt.”

The woman looked relieved.

“That's all I needed to hear. Thank you. Now if you don't mind, I have things to attend to. Particularly bookkeeping. Between you and that sticky-fingered scavenger, you've cost me a small fortune.”

“My apologies, citizen. I didn't mean to cause you any inconvenience.”

“No, don't worry about it. Just – go on, do what you have to do.”

Danse didn't hang around. His heart started to beat a little faster as he emerged into the daylight and ascended the stairs, clutching the box tightly to his chest.

“Dogmeat,” he called. “Here, boy!”

Dogmeat had been sitting next to the counter of Power Noodles, attempting to beg for scraps from one of the patrons; when he heard Danse's voice, he came running back to his side.

“One down, four to go,” Danse told him. “Maybe this won't be as difficult as I anticipated.”

Just across the square was another row of shops. Danse recognized Commonwealth Weaponry, and Arturo, who greeted him with a friendly grin; he stopped to barter with the man and picked up a few boxes of ammunition, a case of fusion cells, and three fusion cores.

When he moved on to Diamond City Surplus, however, he got a far less welcome reception from the proprietor. The dark-haired woman's lip curled at the sight of him.

“We don't serve synths here,” she said shortly. “Get lost.”

“I'm not asking you to serve me, Miss Myrna,” said Danse, heaving a sigh. He had no idea how the woman had known she was a synth; he certainly hadn't done anything to advertise the fact. Still, the Commonwealth could be a small place at times, and word traveled fast. “I'm here about a scavenger who sold you a gold watch and a silver locket, some time ago. And a piece of paper from a Pre-War law school – a diploma. They belong to my commanding officer, General de Havilland, and I'm here to recover them for her. I'm sorry for any inconvenience, of course, but I'll be happy to compensate you for any financial loss you may have incurred.”

“I said beat it, synth! I don't do business with things that pretend to be people!” Myrna hissed across the counter.

“I'm not _doing business_ with you, citizen,” Danse said, with all the patience he could muster. “I'm merely reminding you that possession of stolen property is a crime. Please don't make me get Diamond City Security involved. I doubt they'd appreciate my wasting their time over a few trinkets, and I'm sure you don't want them to think you're the sort of lowlife trader that deals with looters and thieves.”

Myrna spat at his feet.

“There's only one lowlife around here, synth, and it's not me!” she snapped. “Go back to the Institute where you belong! Or better yet, what's left of it! This is a place for people, not things!”

“Mum,” said the Mister Handy robot beside her, with a touch of anxiety. “Perhaps you ought to make an exception in this case. You do realize that Mr. Danse is one of General de Havilland's men? I don't think it's wise to - ”

“Shut it, Percy! And _you!_ ” she said, turning back to Danse, her eyes blazing with animosity. “Get away from my store before I call the guards! I won't tolerate harassment from Institute thugs like you!”

“Give back General de Havilland's things and we aren't going to have a problem,” Danse repeated, in the low voice which had once reduced cocky teenage Initiates to sobbing, contrite children. “If you don't, then I'll have to report you to the authorities. Handling stolen goods, being an accessory to theft... a reputation for dishonest dealings is a hard thing to shake, so I think it would be best if we resolved this matter as quietly and discreetly as possible. Now do you still have those things? Or at least some idea where they might have ended up?”

“I'm afraid the locket's already gone, sir,” Percy piped up apologetically. “Very sorry about that. A chap from one of the caravans picked it up a few months ago and melted it down for scrap. And I don't recall seeing anything along the lines of a law school diploma. I believe we still have the watch, though. You said it belonged to General de Havilland? I remember seeing some sort of inscription...”

“Percy, if you hand that thing over, I swear to God I'll melt _you_ for scrap!” Myrna barked in response, as the robot began rummaging through a crate in the back of the shop. “I already told you several times! _We don't – serve – synths!_ ”

A couple of people in the marketplace had overheard the altercation; heads were turning in the crowd around them, and Danse caught a few whispers:

“ _Remember the Mayor? He didn't care when people went missing! We all know why!”_

“ _What the hell is he doing here? Is he one of the Institute Remnants?”_

“ _Synth scum. Taking people, replacing them with fakes...”_

Dogmeat started to growl beside him.

“Settle down, boy. It's all right,” Danse murmured. “Nothing I can't handle.”

He put the dress box down at his feet and leaned on the counter.

“Now listen here, citizen,” he said, in his most commanding tone. “That watch belonged to General de Havilland's husband – he was murdered in front of her by a bunch of cowards from the Institute, and the watch was one of the few reminders she had of him. Please, if you want caps, then you can have them. I'll buy it back outright if I have to. All I'm asking is that you do the right thing and help me return that watch to its rightful owner.”

“Shut up, synth!” Myrna shot back. “I'm not listening to your lies! You just want it for some experiment – so you can use it for spare parts and make more of your robot buddies! You do, don't you? Well, you can forget it! Get out of here! You're not wanted!”

“Now there's a headline for you,” said a clear voice from the crowd. Danse turned his head and saw Piper weaving through the crowd, notebook in hand and pencil poised at the ready. The face beneath the press cap was smiling grimly. “ _Local Trader Declines to Return Stolen Property to Institute Victim's Widow; Says Minutemen 'Not Wanted'._ I think that one would make the front page! Of course, I'll have to switch the next edition up to a broadsheet. More expensive, but I'm sure it would sell out. No worries though, Myrna – there's no such thing as bad advertising, right? By the time this goes to press, people all over the Commonwealth will be aware that you don't sell anything to synths. Or return things that don't belong to you.”

Myrna was trembling, although Danse sensed that it was more out of frustration than fear.

“Goddamn it, Piper, who invited you to stick your oar in?”

“Oh, nobody,” said Piper brightly. “This is a public place, after all – everything I see and hear in public is fair game. And stories about unscrupulous traders screwing over grieving widows are definitely in the public interest, wouldn't you agree? It's practically my duty to report stories like this,” she added, smiling wickedly. “Come on, Myrna. Be a good citizen and help out Captain Danse. I'll be able to give Diamond City Surplus a much more favorable treatment if you do. Maybe something along the lines of _Local Trader's Touching Act of Mercy – Diamond City Surplus Helps Return Widow's Stolen Watch for Free._ Sounds much better, doesn't it? People will be queuing up round the block to shake your hand...”

“All right, fine!” Myrna snarled. “Percy! Give that _thing_ the damn watch and get it out of my sight! For the love of God, what's this city coming to? Codman's got my vote if she'll promise to ban all synths for good. Then I won't have to deal with crap like this any more! Being blackmailed by the local newspaper... forced to deal with synths on my own premises... just _unbelievable!_ ”

“Terribly sorry about all this, sir,” whispered Percy, as Myrna stormed off. “Here you are. Please send my regards to General de Havilland and Codsworth.”

He handed over a small gold pocket watch to Danse, who took it and flipped it open. He saw a worn copperplate inscription which began with the words “ _To our friend David de Havilland, with thanks for your service”_ , but he broke off from reading the rest when he realized that the crowd had dispersed, and that Piper was waiting to speak to him.

“You okay, Danse?” she said, when he turned to look at her.

“Affirmative. Thank you, Piper. That was a very timely intervention. What you did was - ”

“ _Outstanding, civilian,”_ she said, in a poor imitation of his voice, although he had to admit that her attempt at a Brotherhood salute was a good one. She followed it up with an impish grin. “Hey, no problem. If I'm honest, I did it as much for Margot as I did for you. Poor old Blue. She's spent two years looking for that watch and all this time, it was right under my nose... some investigative reporter I am. You, though – I have to say it, Danse, I'm impressed. How would you like to come and work for _Publick Occurrences_? You could give us updates from the Minutemen now that you're working for them. We could use a war correspondent.”

“I don't think that's a good idea, Piper. There wouldn't be much to send you for publication. Most of what I do is classified.”

“Or unprintable,” said Piper, with a wink. “I hear Blue's got a thing for you. Must be the uniform. She always did like military guys. So are you two - ?”

“No,” said Danse quickly. “I mean, uh, no comment. Margot's personal life is not up for discussion. Neither is mine. I'm afraid you won't get any exclusive interviews from me.”

“Aww, an officer _and_ a gentleman. Sweet of you not to kiss and tell, Danse,” said Piper, with a smile which couldn't quite hide her disappointment. “Kind of a pity, though. Nat and I were thinking of starting a new relationship advice column on page three. That would have been a great first problem. _Dear Nat, my commanding officer is madly in love with me. She's a great soldier and truly outstanding in each and every way. I find the way she charges at Super Mutant Masters with a sledgehammer particularly alluring, but Elder Maxson says I'm a robot and permission to bang has been denied. What should I do? Sincerely, Betrayed By The Brotherhood._ ”

Danse bristled.

“Really, Piper, my personal life is none of anyone's - ”

Piper burst out laughing.

“Hey, I'm only kidding! Don't blow a gasket. Here, let me give you a hand with that box. That's yours too, right?”

“Margot's, actually,” he said, as Piper picked it up. “I was able to recover her wedding dress from Fallon's Basement. She'll be disappointed to hear that the silver locket she inherited from her grandmother was unrecoverable, but I'm reliably informed that her pearl necklace is still extant. Albeit currently around the neck of one Mrs. Ann Codman.”

Piper's eyes gleamed.

“Oh, _that's_ definitely worthy of the front page. _Ruthless Upper Stands Mayoral Candidate in Possession of Stolen Goods!_ You know she's giving a speech over by the Wall right now? Imagine her face if you went up to her in front of all those people and told her that fancy necklace of hers was stolen! Hah! I'd pay a hundred caps to see her lose it and take a swing at someone! That'd be her out of the race for sure!”

Danse shook his head.

“I'm not sure that's the best approach. I promised Becky Fallon I'd try to be discreet in my attempts to recover the necklace. I don't want to cause any embarrassment.”

“Honestly, Danse, I think you'd be doing Diamond City a favor by exposing Ann Codman as the vile human being she is,” said Piper, who was already scribbling notes as if her life depended on the speed of her reporter's shorthand. “You know she's threatening to throw all known and suspected synths out of the city? Even Curie, over at the Mega Surgery Center, and all she does is help people. It's like McDonough and the poor Ghouls all over again. We can't let that bigoted old bat get away with it...”

Danse's face hardened. He couldn't say that he was too sorry about the banishment of Ghouls from Diamond City; it meant that there would be fewer potential Ferals walking around, waiting to snap and attack human beings when radiation damage finally rotted away their higher brain functions. Synths, however, were another story. A notable new resident of Diamond City was Vault 81's former Miss Nanny robot, Curie, whose artificial personality had been transplanted into the brain-dead body of a Gen-3 synth in order to help her accomplish her dream of becoming more human. Endearingly naive, and helpful to the point of compulsion, Curie was now a fresh-faced young woman with a dark pixie crop and eyes as bright and curious as a little Squire's. Danse was aware that he hadn't always been as kind and courteous to her as he should have been, but he knew the pain of being exposed as a synth and cast out of his home and profession, as if the years he'd dedicated to the service of humanity had all been for nothing.

“Negative,” he said harshly. “Curie is a citizen of the Commonwealth and a friend of the Minutemen. I won't allow any harm to come to an innocent civilian like her. Let's go, Piper. I want to see exactly what Mrs. Codman has to say for herself.”

Piper beamed.

“I knew I could count on you, Danse! Come on. They're over here, blowing hot air all over the place...”

She led him through the streets of Diamond City until they reached a Mutfruit orchard and the city's communal vegetable gardens. On the other side of the allotments, standing beneath the fabled green Wall which protected the city from the dangers of the nuclear wasteland, was a stage. Three people stood atop the platform, delivering speeches to the spectators who sat in the rows of chairs, as well as the latecomers who had been forced to stand at the back and crane their necks to watch.

Danse recognized one of the figures on stage – MacCready, who had replaced his usual cap and duster with a clean gray suit and fedora, presumably on the advice of someone more fashion-conscious. He looked unusually clean, to the point where Danse briefly wondered if that could possibly be the real MacCready – the young man was always covered in dirt, gunpowder and other accumulated grime from the road, and whined like a spoiled child when Margot ordered him to bathe – but even without the layer of grime which seemed to be a permanent fixture, the grin and confident swagger were both unmistakable.

“People of Diamond City! I'm very grateful for the warm welcome you gave me when I first moved into Home Plate, and I'm looking forward to bringing my son, Duncan, here to join me very soon,” he was announcing, to warm applause. “I just know that my boy's going to have a bright future ahead of him once he arrives. Hey, why wouldn't he? Life is good here in Diamond City, and it's a life we both want to be a part of. You see, I come from a small settlement in the Capital Wasteland, and I know how important it is for people to step up and do something about the problems we face every day – and believe me, I'm not afraid to make tough decisions, or take on the real issues. Not like these other guys, am I right? They wouldn't know what a real problem was if it hit them over the head with a rolled-up newspaper.”

He gestured to the other two candidates, much to the amusement of the crowd. One, a snooty-looking blonde woman in her fifties, shot him a look of death; the other, a balding, jolly-looking man in a patched three-piece suit, simply roared with laughter.

“Ah, MacCready, _tovarisch,_ you will be the death of me!” he chuckled. The thick accent which came out of his mouth surprised Danse; how on earth had a man of apparently recent Russian descent found his way across the irradiated seas to the East Coast of the United States, or what was left of it?

“See, on my left here we have Ann Codman,” continued MacCready, with a disdainful look in the woman's direction. “A snobby elitist who looks down on the ordinary people of Diamond City from the Upper Stands because she thinks being rich gives her the right to mess with the rest of us. And then we have Bobrov – now, Bobrov is a good friend, and a great bartender. The best, in fact! But let's face it, folks, he's more full of crap than a backed-up Brahmin. He runs a fine bar, but he doesn't know how to run a city. I, however, have extensive mayoral experience! I've always been involved in local politics and I successfully managed a Capital Wasteland settlement for over six years. Let me tell you, it was child's play!”

He muttered something under his breath which sounded very much like the word _“Literally_ ,” and Danse wondered what he'd meant by the remark.

“That town prospered under my leadership,” he continued again, “and now I want to serve you all as your Mayor, so that I can make Diamond City prosper too. Vote MacCready, for a brighter future! _I've got your back, Diamond City!”_

People were cheering. Even Piper looked impressed. Danse, however, folded his arms and stared. He'd never liked MacCready much. The former mercenary's morals were questionable, and his rowdy, disrespectful behavior had always grated. For some reason, Margot found the man's irreverence funny; he'd often seen the pair in gales of laughter over one of the mercenary's childish remarks. She was better than that – a brave, kind woman who would do anything to help anyone – and yet she seemed to enjoy slumming it with a man who didn't object to shooting people for caps. He did, however, have to concede that MacCready was a superb sniper. He'd once attempted to compliment the man by saying that he should have joined the Brotherhood as a sharpshooter; MacCready had simply rolled his eyes and responded that he'd rather turn into a Ghoul.

It was Ann Codman's turn to speak. The shrewish-looking blonde had exchanged her usual tan suit for a demure rose-pink dress with a full skirt. Danse narrowed his eyes when he noticed the telltale sheen of pearls at her neck.

“People of Diamond City,” she announced. Her voice was sharp and unpleasant; it reminded him more than a little of the AntAgonizer. “I'm disappointed to hear you swayed by the words of that overgrown street urchin. I always thought you knew better than to listen to outsiders! We know nothing about this man – he isn't one of us! I, however, was born right here in the Upper Stands, and as a longstanding member of Diamond City's elite, it is my civic duty to ensure that this community remains a desirable place to live! Do we really want to attract the likes of scruffy mercenaries and foreign-born drunks? What next? Ghouls? Ferals? Gunners? Why don't we invite the Brotherhood of Steel to anchor their airship above Power Noodles while we're at it, and allow them to take over Diamond City?”

Danse's eyes narrowed even further. She'd said that like it was a bad thing.

“Well I say no!” said Codman, raising her voice. “I intend to keep Diamond City free of riff-raff like Gunners, Ghouls... and most of all, _synths!_ That appalling incident with McDonough was the last straw! If you elect me as Mayor, I will do everything in my power to ensure that undesirables are driven out of our fair city, for the safety and well-being of all! Diamond City is a thriving, prosperous, _exclusive_ community and I intend to keep it that way! No more Ghouls! No more strangers! _No more synths!_ ”

“No more Diamond City,” said Piper under her breath. “Keep that attitude up and there won't be anyone left by the end of your term, Codman...”

“I can certainly see why Margot doesn't like her,” said Danse, with distaste. “She said she was – please excuse my language, but I'm quoting her directly - a venomous bitch.”

“Oh no, Danse, that was almost a swear!” said Piper, with mock horror. “Whatever would Elder Maxson say?”

“No need to be facetious, Piper. You and I both know he wouldn't approve of bad language.”

“God only knows what he'd say about Blue if he heard her in action,” said Piper. “She swears like a sailor. You wouldn't think it to look at her, would you?”

“You certainly wouldn't,” Danse agreed. “Margot's full of surprises. Speaking of which, if you want some real front-page news, then perhaps you should ask her about our recent exploits on the _Prydwen_. It's quite a story, although even if it were to go to print, I'm not sure if anyone would believe it.”

Piper seemed to have been rendered temporarily mute. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she struggled to find the right words.

“She – she got you on board the _Prydwen_?” she managed at last. “What, after you were banished? Holy shit, Danse, how are you still alive?”

“Margot managed to talk Elder Maxson down and convince him to let me back into the Brotherhood. I'm re-enlisting soon,” said Danse. He couldn't seem to keep the big, proud grin off his face; he never thought he'd be allowed to wear the Brotherhood's uniform again, but soon he'd be coming home to his brothers and sisters. The thought made him want to hug himself with joy.

“Well I'll be damned,” said Piper, when she remembered to close her mouth again. “Is there _anything_ she can't talk people into doing?”

“If there is, I think I'd like to be there to witness it for posterity.”

Piper smirked.

“Yeah, that'd certainly be one for the history books. Blue not getting her own way for once. Imagine that...”

They listened as Ann Codman continued to gesticulate and shout about the dangers of synths and how their presence threatened the safety, livelihoods and social standing of Diamond City's residents. Danse looked around uneasily. A couple of people were giving him dirty looks and edging away from him, as if being manufactured in an Institute lab was somehow contagious.

“Jeez, Codman just doesn't shut up, does she?” said Piper, after a while. “If she keeps this up, she's going to bust a blood vessel. Thankfully nobody's crazy enough to vote for her.” She paused. “I hope.”

“People apparently voted for that insubordinate civilian MacCready, back in the Capital Wasteland,” Danse remarked. “There's no accounting for taste.”

Piper suppressed a laugh.

“That's a little mean-spirited, Danse. MacCready's a decent guy. He had enough sense to ditch the Gunners and strike out on his own when he realized what a bunch of assholes they were, and he's doing his best to support his kid. You know he lost his wife to a Feral Ghoul attack?”

Danse hadn't known that. Dismay overcame him.

“Oh... I'm sorry for his loss. Damn Ferals. They're a menace. Only thing they're good for is target practice.”

“Won't argue with you there,” said Piper. She shook her head. “I wish you Brotherhood types would stop being jerks to the regular Ghouls, though. They're people too, you know.”

“So Margot keeps reminding me,” said Danse, with a dour expression.

“Then perhaps you should listen to her,” Piper told him. “She's right. McDonough was an asshole to kick them out the way he did. MacCready says he'll let them back in if he's elected. Bobrov doesn't care either way, as long as he can sell them a few shots of that swill he calls moonshine. More people to drink with, he says. Honestly, though, I'll take anyone except Codman. I'm not interested in being lectured from the Upper Stands about how poor people like me have to listen to what she has to say. Especially when what she has to say is _bullshit_.”

Danse nodded, and looked up at the stage.

“When the good people of Diamond City acknowledge that I'm the obvious choice for Mayor, I intend to build a bigger, better Wall to keep out the synths!” Codman was announcing. “Maybe that fool MacCready wants to see our fair city overrun by things which want to take our jobs, our families, our _lives_ – but I don't! I will also institute a new, stricter housing application process, to make sure that nobody who shouldn't be here gets in! Synths aren't going to take over our city! I won't let things like _that_ replace us!”

She pointed into the crowd, and a sea of heads turned over a shore of shoulders. Danse realized, with a rush of anxiety, that she was pointing his way, and that everyone else was looking at him. Some of the faces were curious, some disapproving; others looked positively murderous.

“Oh, blow it out your ears, Codman!” Piper yelled rudely. “Danse isn't a thing! He's a good man and he hasn't done anything wrong! He has as much right to be here as you do, you withered old hag! Probably more! Diamond City doesn't belong to the elite! It belongs to the people!”

“Yeah, like Goodneighbor!” someone else in the crowd pitched in. “Of the people! For the people!”

Ann Codman made a huffy noise, and puffed up her chest.

“Goodneighbor is a place for Ghouls and other ruffians who don't belong in civilized society! Your synthetic friend should go there to live instead of bothering normal people! And if this is the company you're keeping these days, Miss Wright, then you would be well-advised to join him! Synths are just machines! They're not real! And they're not welcome! They don't belong here!”

Danse had had enough. With burning cheeks, and something hot and angry clawing at his chest in an attempt to get out, he strode through the crowd and declared:

“I am not a machine, Mrs. Codman. I'm not a slave, with a number and a designation. I'm a free man, with a name, and a purpose! And I'm not going to listen to this any more! How can you stand there and tell the people of Diamond City that you have the moral authority to lead them when you're wearing stolen goods around your neck?”

Ann Codman let out a shriek of outrage and clutched at the pearl necklace around her throat.

“How dare you slander me in public, you – you _thing!_ Spreading disgraceful lies about respectable people! You see, everyone? A product of the Institute, attempting to discredit legitimate mayoral candidates so they can install some replacement, like McDonough, to spout whatever propaganda they've programmed into its brain! Are we really going to allow this sort of thing to continue? Vote Codman! _Make the Great Green Jewel Shine Again!_ ”

“Speaking of jewels, Mrs. Codman, I think you're due a refund for that necklace,” Danse interjected, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself. “It belongs to General de Havilland and was stolen from her home in Sanctuary Hills!”

A few people in the crowd booed and hissed.

“Absolute lies!” insisted Ann Codman shrilly. “It was purchased from one of our local merchants here in Diamond City - with good caps, I might add - and I am its rightful owner! To suggest otherwise is positively outrageous! What do you think I am, a common thief?”

“No, Mrs. Codman, I don't,” said Danse. He clambered up onto the stage. Dogmeat hopped up behind him. “Nor is the merchant who sold it to you. Unfortunately, one of her suppliers _was_ , and she extends her sincere apologies. She was as much a victim of the crime as General de Havilland, but she wants to make sure that you don't suffer any loss as a result of all this. Please take your caps, with her compliments, and feel free to spend them on anything you please. But those pearls are coming back to Sanctuary Hills with me, so I can return them to their rightful owner. Now if you don't mind - ”

“Oh no you don't!” bellowed Ann Codman, stepping back, as he approached her. “Help! Thief! _Synth!_ He's trying to interfere with the democratic process! And my jewelry! Someone stop him!”

Bobrov burst out laughing; a rich, throaty laugh, like a roaring waterfall.

“Oh, this is too much! I love it! How fortunate we are to live in such a glorious place as Diamond City! Free entertainment every day! What a wonderful city this is, yes? The best in the Commonwealth! Vote for me if you agree, my friends!”

“Please, Mrs. Codman, be reasonable and cooperate with me on this issue,” Danse told the woman. “Look, here are your caps. Just take them and allow me to return this necklace to the General. It belonged to her before the Great War, and it belongs to her now. You can't possibly want to keep something that doesn't belong to you. You're better than that, surely?”

“Get away from me, you awful, horrid thing!” Ann Codman shrilled, shoving him away. “Guards! Help!”

MacCready was patting Dogmeat on the head, and apparently enjoying the show. When Danse finally gave up trying to reason with her, threw down the caps at Ann Codman's feet and reached up to her neck to remove the necklace, only to receive a ringing slap across the face for his efforts, MacCready grinned.

“And here I was, thinking that the Brotherhood of Steel's golden boy was never going to do anything interesting,” he said, starting to laugh. “Kick her butt, Danse! Give her one from the rest of us! We don't let people like her tell us what to do, do we folks?”

The cheer he received in response, from Piper and several others on the ground, seemed to buoy MacCready up to more inspirational heights. He grinned even more widely, and announced:

“See? That's how we roll in Diamond City! We stand up for ourselves against the jerks of the world, and we show them what we think of them and their cruddy behavior! _Vote MacCready if you want more of the same!_ ”

Danse was struggling with Ann Codman, who had flown into a rage and was striking out at him, hitting his face and upper arms. His first instinct had been to floor his opponent with a right hook – he'd always been taught to take down enemies fast, hard and without hesitation – but soldiers weren't supposed to strike unarmed female civilians. With the threat of disciplinary action looming, his only option seemed to be to repel the attack as best he could until she eventually calmed down, or at least tired herself out.

“Really, ma'am, this is unseemly behavior for a public official!” he objected, blocking another strike with his forearm. “Look, this is clearly the result of a misunderstanding. I strongly recommend that you calm down so that we can discuss any grievances in a more dignified - ow! Hey! Stop that!”

“How dare you humiliate me in front of all these people, you wretched machine? Dragging the Codman name in the dirt! Calling me a thief!” she yelled, and smacked him across the face again. “How _dare_ you?”

“Mrs. Codman, please!” Danse said, a little louder. “It was certainly not my intention to cause any embarrassment to you personally, and I sincerely apologize for any offense I may have caused as a result, but you've got your caps back, and - _ma'am,_ _will you please stop hitting me?_ If you continue this behavior, then you'll leave me no option but to defend myself, and then - ”

With a scream, Ann Codman pushed him off the stage. Danse stumbled backward over the edge and grabbed at the first thing he could reach - unfortunately, it was the collar of a pink dress. The fabric tore as he fell, and brought its shrieking owner tumbling down after him. They both landed with a squelch into the thick mud left behind by recent rains.

“You – you son of a bitch!” Ann Codman screamed, clambering up out of the puddle and trying to hold up the torn, mud-covered bodice of her dress, as the crowd around them roared with laughter. “You'll pay for this! You'll never set foot in Diamond City again! I'll have you _dismantled_ like the pile of Institute trash you are!”

Danse was still trying to pick himself up when he felt the heel of her shoe connect with his temple. He fell backward, dazed, into the filthy water.

“All right, what's going on here?”

Two guards had rushed over to see what was going on. They saw a jeering, cheering crowd; Ann Codman, still clutching the ripped fabric of her dress to her chest; and Danse, who was lying in the mud and wondering what on earth had gone wrong with his strategy.

“He tried to take my necklace!” said Mrs. Codman, pointing at him.

“It's not her necklace! It was stolen from General de Havilland and I was attempting to recover it!” said Danse quickly. He tried to pick himself up, but stumbled and fell face-first into the muck. He struggled back to all fours. “Some scavver took it and sold it to one of the merchants here. The merchant in question didn't realize it was stolen and sold it on to Mrs. Codman by mistake. Might I add that Mrs. Codman refused my good-faith offer of a refund on the merchant's behalf and proceeded to violently assault me?”

The guards exchanged looks.

“What do you think, Larry?”

“I don't think we get paid enough to deal with crap like this. Throw 'em both in the cells. We'll work out what to do with them after lunch.”

Ann Codman started to scream as one of the guards took hold of her.

“How dare you manhandle me? My husband will hear about this! He'll have your job, you – you dirty peasant!”

“Not exactly endearing yourself to the general population, Mrs. Codman!” called out Piper, as the guard dragged Mrs. Codman away kicking and screaming. “You might want to rethink the attitude if you want to be our Mayor!”

Bobrov guffawed.

“When I'm elected Mayor, Ann Codman will wrestle in mud _every_ night for your amusement!” he announced to the crowd below him. “Community service, Bobrov-style!”

“Elect _me_ Mayor, and I'll throw a shirtless Captain Danse in there too!” MacCready said, a little louder. When a few women in the audience screeched their approval, he laughed, and gave them a cheeky wink. “Hey, don't thank me yet, ladies... I still need your vote before I can make all those dreams come true! Haha! Vote MacCready!”

“No, vote Bobrov! Free drinks for everyone!”

“Vote MacCready! No free drinks, but truth in advertising!”

“All right, buster, you're coming with me,” said a guard at Danse's elbow. He hauled him up out of the mud. “Don't try anything funny. I know you Brotherhood types, always getting drunk and spoiling for a fight. And no claiming diplomatic immunity like the last guy, either. We're not falling for that one again.”

“Am I being detained?” said Danse, confused. His head was starting to ache.

“What do you think, dumbass?” the guard said, rolling his eyes.

Danse groaned as he felt his hands being cuffed behind his back.

“Hey, Piper, can you take care of those things for me?” he called out to the reporter. “I think I'm being arrested.”

“No problem, Danse, I've got it!” Piper called back. “Dogmeat and I'll come and see you in jail, okay? And I'll get you the best lawyer in the Commonwealth.”

“ _Not Margot!”_ he said urgently. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. If word of his arrest reached her - or worse, Elder Maxson - then his military career would be over before it could ever resume. “Whatever you do, don't tell her about this!”

“Okay! Might have to hide the next few issues of _Publick Occurrences_ when she comes to town, but... ehh, I'm sure it'll be fine. Just don't try to escape, okay? The guards _hate_ that. They put me in solitary the last time I broke out the bobby pins.”

“Noted,” said Danse unhappily, as the guard frogmarched him away. “I'll, uh... see you later...”

He lowered his eyes as other people turned to stare at him. Things definitely hadn't gone according to plan. A simple supply run had gone spectacularly awry, and all because he'd let the thought of Margot take priority over the task at hand.

 _Paladin Krieg always warned you to keep your mind on the job. Now look at the fix you've gotten yourself into,_ he scolded himself. _All over a pretty face and some hopeless dreams. Was it worth it, soldier?_

He looked up at the sunny sky above him, and thought about Margot. After a great deal of consideration, he reached a conclusion _._

_Yes, it was. And I'd do it again for the sake of Margot and her smile._

He sighed quietly as the guard led him away.

_I'd do anything for her._


	10. Diamond City Blues - Part 2

Vault 111 never changed. Every time Margot came here, she found things just as she'd left them. The electric lights still flickered; steam hissed, and water dripped. Dust lay undisturbed on the floor. And the bodies in the cryopods never moved. The only movements here were the dance of candle flames, the ceaseless dripping of water, and the falling petals of dying flowers.

Nate looked different today, she thought. The rosy glow she'd always thought she'd seen in his cheeks seemed to have faded to a paler shade. Perhaps it was just the light.

“Nate?” she said, at last. “Honey, it's me. Nora. I'm sorry I came down here in this state, but I didn't know what else to do. I just talked to Codsworth, and... well, I think he told me some things I didn't want to hear. I got angry with him and walked out. I know he's trying to help, but I wish he wouldn't tell me how I'm supposed to feel. People keep trying to tell me that I need to move on now that you're gone, but – damn it, I can't. You're my husband. You never would have abandoned me, so how can I possibly walk away and do the same to you?”

Her words were met with a deafening silence. Tears welled up in her eyes. She shouldn't have expected an answer.

“I can't help thinking, though,” she said, reaching up to the cryopod and pressing her palm against the glass, as if to caress the hand of the man on the other side. “About what Codsworth said. If there was some way I could bring you back to me... could I? Should I? What would you want, Nate? Would you still want to live in this world with me? Would it be worth it to wake up and see my face again, even if it meant that you weren't really _you_ any more? I know you would have done anything for our family, but our family is gone. Shaun's dead. The baby we were going to have, his little brother or sister, the one I never got the chance to tell you about - they're gone too. They never made it. Codsworth and I are the only ones left.”

She looked down at one of the photographs in front of the cryopod. Nate's face smiled out at her from the memento of their wedding day, and she stood by his side, happy and radiant in the white dress which had been stolen by scavengers. Her husband, her happiness, her old life; everything in that photograph had been taken away from her by force.

“It's all gone, Nate,” she murmured, and put the photograph carefully back in its place. “Everything we've ever known. I'm starting to think it wouldn't be right to bring you back into the world - not when our babies are gone. Please hold them for me, darling, wherever you are, and tell them that I'm sorry. And try to forgive Shaun for what he became. It wasn't his fault the Institute poisoned him with their lies; I tried to get through to him, I really did, but he was so far gone that he wouldn't even let me bring him to safety when the Institute was being destroyed. All I wanted was to protect our family from atomic bombs, but after all we did to try and save him, he died in a nuclear blast anyway. Only this time it was my fault. I killed our son, Nate. I pushed that goddamn button knowing exactly what would happen, and I killed him! Shaun's dead!”

The words escaped in a succession of bitter sobs. Tears dripped down her face. The more she wiped them away with the back of her hand, the more there seemed to be; she gave up, and hung her head miserably.

“Maybe Codsworth is right and you're better off in the hereafter. You wouldn't want to come back to me after some of the things I've done. I'm scared of the person I'm becoming, Nate. A heartless monster, like Kellogg. I can't let myself turn into him. I can't. I'd rather get back in that fucking cryopod and lock myself away from the world for a thousand years than be like him. I don't ever want to hurt you, or Shaun, or Codsworth, or – or Danse...”

 _Danse_ , whispered the Vault accusingly. It was a name that didn't belong here. Margot let out a wail at the realization that she'd unconsciously added his name when thinking about her family, and threw herself onto the floor, burying her face in her forearms. She cried until her chest hurt; until her eyes and throat were sore; until there wasn't enough breath left in her body to go on. But when she looked up again, she saw her husband, still sleeping the endless sleep of the dead behind the veil of her tears. No matter how much she cried, it would never disturb his rest.

“I'm sorry, Nate,” she said at last. “I know I look like such a mess right now. I just feel so lost and confused. Is Codsworth right about what you would have wanted? About wanting me to move on and find happiness again? Because I'm not sure if I can do that. Sometimes I find myself thinking about Danse, and I... I do care about him, but I know we can't be together, for all sorts of reasons. Even if we tried to make things work, I'd only end up breaking his heart somehow. It wouldn't be fair of me to ask. Not when I still love you.”

She sighed, and tried to wipe her eyes and nose.

“That's the problem. Every time I think of him, I keep thinking about you. And every time that happens, I keep asking myself what to do. Do I try and bring you back? Do I let you go? Should I just walk away from everything and forget any of this ever happened, or put myself back in the deep-freezer so I can go to sleep and not think about anything ever again? What do I _do_ , Nate? What do you want?”

 _What do you want_ , the Vault seemed to whisper back at her. Margot shivered. If she hadn't known any better, she might have thought that there was a hint of Nate's voice in the response. Of course it was her imagination, but...

“What do I want?” she asked her husband's cold, silent form. “I want things to be simpler again. The way they used to be. I want you back. I want our babies back. I want everything to be back the way it was before the bombs. But I know none of those things are possible.”

She sighed.

“And while we're in the realm of the impossible, I want things like the stupid chain of command to disappear. I want to stop feeling so guilty about missing Danse the way I miss you. I want to know that I'm not letting you down in some way if I admit that I care about him. I want – oh, hell, I don't even know _what_ I want any more. I hate this stupid apocalypse and those evil Institute bastards, and I hate you being gone, and Danse being a synth, and – and – ”

She clenched her fists, gritted her teeth, then screamed out:

“ _Fuck!_ Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't you have just held on and survived? We could have looked for Shaun together, and looked after our new baby, but no, you had to fucking die and leave me like this! Why? Why did you have to die on me? I love you, and I miss you so much, but right now I really fucking hate you for being dead, and... _argh!_ I can't do this any more! What the hell am I supposed to do, Nate? _What do I do?_ ”

When the rage finally ran dry and she couldn't yell any more, she stopped. Now she felt foolish, like a small child throwing a tantrum in a Super-Duper Mart while the rest of the world stood and stared, wondering what the hell was the matter with her. She flushed, embarrassed at her own outburst.

“Oh Nate, I'm sorry. I'm being ridiculous, aren't I? I don't know why I'm yelling at you. It's not your fault you're dead.”

Dead, she thought, as her eyes fell upon his face again. Now that she looked at him again, the pink color she thought she'd seen in his cheeks was nowhere to be found. She must have been so desperate to cling to some hope that he'd survived, or that he could somehow be revived, that she'd imagined it all along. But it was gone. There was no color, no heartbeat; no spark of life to coax back into a body which had been frozen, stiff and solid, for decades, preserved only by the science which had spurred other men on to kill him in pursuit of its advancement. He was dead.

_Nate. My husband. My high school sweetheart. The only guy in the world who could call me Nora without being socked in the arm. He's – he's really gone, isn't he? And there's nothing I can do to bring him back. Codsworth was right. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to let him go. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or next week, or even next month. But someday soon, I'll have to bury him. Human beings bury their dead._

“I'm sorry for being such an idiot,” she said out loud. “I love you, and I always will. But... I don't know. Maybe Danse and Codsworth are right, and it's time I laid you to rest. You and the others deserve better than eternity in a freezer. If you want, I could ask the Brotherhood of Steel to give you a proper funeral, with full military honors. After all, you died trying to defend us from the Institute. I'm sure Elder Maxson would approve. I think you would, too. That was how we did things, back in the old days.”

Margot got up from the floor and rubbed life back into her stiff, numb legs.

“I'll talk to the boys back at the _Prydwen_ about giving you a decent send-off,” she said. She smiled, through her tears, and let her fingers brush the glass above Nate's face. “Perhaps then you and I will both rest a little easier. No more nightmares. No more experiments. Peace at last.”

She kissed the glass, replacing the lipstick mark from her previous visit with a fresher version.

“I love you, honey. Maybe the next time I see your face will be the last. But no matter what happens, you'll always be my Nate, and you'll always be a part of me. I'll never forget you... I promise.”

She stooped to blow out the candles, then left, with only a brief glance over her shoulder at the shadows of her past.

*

It had once been a locker room for the baseball team which had played here before the Great War. Now it served as Diamond City Security's headquarters; part of the room had been fenced off with bars to create a detention area for those who found themselves on the wrong side of the law. Beyond it were lockers, some folding chairs, a couple of offices on the other side of a thick concrete wall, and some guards milling around, holding cups of coffee and making small talk.

Danse sat on the bare wooden bench behind the bars and looked glumly at the concrete floor. This was so undignified. He'd once been a Paladin, one of the Brotherhood's elite soldiers; upstanding and disciplined, held up by Elder Maxson himself as a good example for the men and women under his command. Now he was sitting in a cell like a common criminal after getting into a fight he'd never meant to start. His clothes were caked in mud, and his face and arms were bruised; one of Ann Codman's careless, untrained blows had caught him on his left cheek, and he'd taken another hit to the lower lip and chin. Both were starting to swell up, as if he'd done ten rounds with veteran pit-fighter Cait instead of grappling with an angry housewife in heels and a dress. His humiliation could not have felt more complete.

Mrs. Codman had briefly shared the cell, but her husband had arrived almost immediately to pay her fine; Mr. Codman had been almost helpless with mirth when the guards told him what had happened. She'd glowered at her husband as they left, and then at Danse. Danse had glowered back, but then the security guard on duty had notified him that he'd had a little chat with the Codmans on the way out and that Mrs. Codman had thrown the pearl necklace at him, snarling that she never wanted to see the “cheap, tawdry” thing again and that the “synth scumbag” could keep it.

That had lifted Danse's mood, at least for a little while. He'd recovered Margot's necklace, albeit by rather more unconventional means than the plans he'd had in mind. Now all he could think about was how on earth he was going to get out of here.

He could have broken out of his cell, of course. He'd been trained to escape captivity in the event of being taken prisoner by hostile forces, and the locks on the doors didn't appear to be complex, or even of particularly sturdy construction. However, while escape was certainly an option, returning to Diamond City at any point in the foreseeable future wouldn't be. Margot would be intrigued to know why he wouldn't be able to do any more supply runs, and then he'd have to come clean and admit that he was on the run from Diamond City's law enforcement.

_Absolutely unacceptable. The only appropriate course of action is to wait here and stand trial, assuming that they don't expect everyone in Diamond City to buy their way out of jail. Hopefully my previous good conduct will count in my favor and they'll let me off with a warning..._

He looked up expectantly as a door opened. Dogmeat padded into the room and pressed his curious, furry face up against the bars.

“Hey, soldier,” Danse greeted him. “I apologize for our little misadventure earlier. What's your status? Is Miss Piper treating you well?”

Dogmeat barked.

“Good to hear. Where is she, incidentally?”

“I don't think there's much point in asking him for a status report, Danse,” said Piper, strolling into the room and taking a seat on one of the folding chairs on the other side of the bars. She smiled a little. “Unless of course the Brotherhood of Steel teaches its soldiers to speak fluent Dog.”

“I hope you haven't come here to ask for an interview,” Danse said wearily.

“Why not? I can ask all the questions I like and you can't get away. You're kind of a, uh, captive audience here,” said Piper. She grinned at her own joke. “Nah, I'm just checking up on you. You look like hell, by the way. Mrs. Codman sure went to town on you. Sheesh.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Piper gave him a severe look.

“Why, soldier boy, feeling sorry for yourself? Come on, Danse, don't wallow in self-pity. It doesn't suit you. Blue wouldn't like to see you like that. You're her big, brave hero, not some beaten-down sad-sack like that Jun Long guy in Sanctuary.”

“I thought I was just a Brotherhood grunt,” Danse replied sourly. “Suddenly I'm a hero now?”

The reporter grinned, without the slightest hint of shame.

“Ehh, what can I say? You're growing on me. Come on, let's see what we can do about getting you out of here.”

She turned her head and yelled:

“Hey, Nick, you coming or what?”

“Yeah, I'm coming,” grumbled a familiar voice from the corridor outside. “Gimme a minute. I want to check in with Jerry and see if he's got any paperwork on Danse.”

“All right. Try and make it quick, okay? I'm supposed to be having dinner with Travis tonight.”

Danse sat up sharply.

“Dinner? What time is it?”

Piper pulled out a silver pocket watch from her coat to check the time. She inspected it, then put it away.

“A little after eight,” she informed him. “Yeah, you've, uh... been here quite a while. Sorry about that. I had to wait for Nick to get back from an appointment out of town. He's about the closest thing we have to a public defender here. Oh, I fed Dogmeat, by the way. Gave him some RadAway too. John says you guys ran into a Suicider outside the city walls. Figured he might need it.”

“Thank you for taking care of him,” said Danse, with a rush of gratitude. “I don't think Margot would ever have forgiven me if I'd brought him back irradiated.”

“Hey, take care of Dogmeat and he'll take care of you, that's what Blue always says,” said Piper cheerily. “He's helped me out a couple of times in the past. Like that time he took down a Raider who tried to sneak up on me outside the gate and take me captive. I still owe him big for that one.”

“Hey, Stuart,” Nick said, raising a hand to greet him. He'd been talking to one of the Diamond City Security guards, who turned to stare at Danse in his cell. “Don't mind me. Just talking to my pal Jerry here about the little matter of your fine. Piper and I agreed to split the cost. We still have a few formalities to take care of, but don't worry. You'll be heading home soon.”

Danse breathed out. That intelligence was music to his ears.

“Thanks, Valentine. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, sure, pal. Just throw a pack of smokes my way the next time you're in town. Or a few caps. Whatever you can spare.”

“Roger that,” said Danse.

Valentine gave him a look which seemed to have been carved out of stone.

“I'm not in the habit of rogering _anything_. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

He returned his attention to the guard, who seemed to be trying hard not to laugh.

“Now, Jerry, it's about time we talked shop. You said... what, two hundred caps? What say we make it a hundred-fifty?”

“Come on, Nicky, you're breaking my balls here!” the guard complained, as they walked off. “Can't you do a hundred seventy-five at least?”

Piper broke into a grin.

“What?” said Danse suspiciously. “What's so funny?”

Her grin broadened.

“ _We found out!”_ she started to sing softly. _“Yes, we did!”_

Confusion drew faint lines on Danse's forehead.

“What are you - ”

“ _We found out!”_ she crowed, and took out her notebook. _“Now we know!”_

“I'm sorry, I don't quite follow...”

“ _We found out!_ ” she said, triumphantly. _“We found out_... that your first name is Stuart.”

Danse rolled his eyes to the ceiling. She'd sung it to the tune of “Grandma Plays The Numbers”, and now her pencil was dancing as she pinned the scrap of trivia to the page.

“Yes, it is,” he sighed. “Danse, Stuart. Knight-Captain. Registration... to be confirmed.”

“What was all that about not having a number or designation, Danse?” she teased.

“Oh, shut up,” said Danse grumpily. “I enlisted in the Brotherhood of Steel of my own free will. I wasn't made to serve them. I _chose_ to.”

Piper shrugged.

“Whatever floats your boat, I guess. I still don't know why anyone would voluntarily sign on with those bucketheads, but then again, you probably wonder why I chose to uphold the freedom of the press. To each his own, right?”

Dogmeat looked up at her and sniffed loudly. Piper smiled, and stooped to scratch his head.

“I see Blue signed him up for the Brotherhood of Steel too,” she remarked, gesturing to the emblem on his dog armor. “Paladin Dogmeat. How does it feel, being outranked by a mutt?”

“As long as I'm not outsmarted, I don't care,” Danse responded.

Piper laughed. It was a pleasant sound; sweet and almost musical, like the babbling water of the stream near Sanctuary Hills.

“That's the spirit! Oh, hey, thanks for giving me inspiration for the advice column. Nat and I have been working on it all afternoon. We even came up with a reply. Wanna hear?”

Danse felt his heart plummet as she took out a piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it.

“Oh, no,” he said, groaning. He covered his eyes. “Don't even think about – _you're going to read it, aren't you._ ”

“Yep,” said Piper cheerfully. She cleared her throat and started to read. “Ahem. _Dear Betrayed By The Brotherhood. Your commanding officer is one heck of a girl and it sounds like you both have the same objective in mind. Why not team up and take on those Super Mutants together? Elder Maxson is probably a robot himself, so ignore him. He's just jealous. Next time you're off-duty, take your CO out to dinner and tell her that you wouldn't want to patrol the wastes with anybody else. But lose the Power Armor first, or she won't be able to hear you over all that clanking. Ad victoriam, soldier! Sincerely, Nat._ ”

“Don't even think about publishing that item, civilian!” Danse warned her. “The Brotherhood of Steel doesn't take kindly to defamation. Put that in your paper and you'll have more than a libel suit to worry about. You'll have a platoon of angry Brotherhood soldiers showing up on your doorstep and demanding a retraction. Or worse, Margot. You do realize she'll go berserk if this goes to print?”

“Clearly you haven't heard of the defense of fair comment, Danse,” said Piper, still grinning. “Blue really is crazy about you, you know. It's common knowledge. And you... you're not as good at hiding it as you think you are. You know you go red every time she looks at you?”

“No I don't!” said Danse indignantly.

“Yes, you do. Like a Tato in a tin can,” said Piper, with a flash of amusement in her eyes. “I don't know why you two are so desperate to pretend you don't care about each other. Being in love with someone isn't a sign of weakness, or lack of discipline, or... well, whatever objection you have to telling Blue that you like her. You do, don't you? Come on, admit it. You do!”

Danse made a feeble attempt at protest, but gave in when he saw the look on her face.

“Fine,” he said hopelessly. “You really want to know why I can't tell her how I feel? It's because I don't _feel_ at all. I'm a synth, Piper. None of my feelings are real, and neither am I. Tell the whole world if you have to, but it won't make any difference. There's no way I could ever ask her to enter into any kind of relationship with me.”

Piper raised her eyebrows.

“Why not? You're, uh... fully-functional, right?”

“That's not the issue,” Danse snapped. He could feel himself going red underneath all the mud. “Look, Piper, I care about Margot more than just about anything. But she needs someone who can look after her out there, and I don't know if she can truly rely on me to keep her safe. What if the Institute Remnants find a way to send orders to that implant in my head? What if they ordered me to hurt her, in retaliation for what happened to the Institute, and I couldn't disobey? There's a reason Elder Maxson had me classified as a weapon of war. I'm not just a soldier. I'm a piece of technology, trained to kill. If someone ever took control of me and tried to use me against her...”

“I'm sure that's a risk she's willing to take,” said Piper, although she looked a little alarmed at the prospect.

“Well, I'm not,” said Danse, scowling. “I won't do it, Piper. I can't ask Margot to put herself in harm's way for my sake. If anything ever happened to her because she let her guard down around me, I – I'd never forgive myself.”

Piper made a rude noise.

“Aww, come on! Don't tell me you won't go out with Blue because you're scared some rogue scientist will order you to self-destruct? You know that'll probably never happen, right?”

“Perhaps not,” said Danse, more uncomfortably. “But even if it doesn't, you know what else will never happen? Marriage. _Children._ Family has always been Margot's highest priority, and it's the one thing I'll never be able to give her. There's no way I can even begin to replace what she's lost.”

“Who says she wants you to replace anything?” Piper said impatiently. “She's already been a wife and a mom. Maybe that's not what she needs from you. Maybe she's over the whole white picket fence thing and just wants someone to go on big, exciting, romantic adventures with her! Rather than wondering what she wants, Danse, why don't you just _ask_ her?”

“I don't understand why the entire Commonwealth keeps asking me why I haven't swept Margot off her feet,” said Danse, with a deepening frown. “Don't people have anything better to worry about than the possibility of seeing us embark on some ill-fated love affair?”

“Yes,” said Piper, more quietly. “Yes, we do. In fact, that's kind of the point. Life is difficult out here in the wastes. We're surrounded by death and destruction all the time, and most of us struggle just to get through another day intact. But sometimes we come across something good in the world - something which gives us the strength we need to carry on. It might be an orphaned kitten crying for its mom, or a lone flower blooming out in the wilderness, in some spot where we thought nothing could possibly grow. Or a settlement of two, clinging onto their little farmstead against the odds because they know things will get better one day. When we see things like those, we get this urge to pitch in and help them to survive. Watching something wonderful grow and flourish and knowing that _we helped_ is the best feeling in the world.”

Danse looked at her, perplexed.

“We aren't kittens. Or flowers. Where are you going with this?”

Piper sighed.

“It's an analogy, you dummy... at least, I thought it was. What I'm _trying_ to say is that we get the same feeling whenever we see people like you and Blue. People who make each other happy but just can't seem to see that they belong together. We do our best to bring them together and cheer them on, because seeing two people fall in love is a beautiful thing. It gives the rest of us hope, you know?”

She met his gaze, and smiled at him.

“Love is what really makes us human, Danse. Not flesh and blood, or high-minded ideals about fighting for the greater good, or whatever the Brotherhood told you humanity is all about. Haven't you ever wondered what really drives us to defend the things that matter most? What makes us want to build a better future? It's because we need something in our lives to protect and care about. To _love_.”

“And what do you love, Piper?” said Danse. “What is it that you care about?”

He'd hoped to turn the tables and see her squirm in her seat as she found her own personal questions being turned on her, but she simply looked amused.

“Answering a question with another question, huh? I know that old trick - but all right, I'll bite. I love my little sister, and my newspaper. I care about truth, justice, and freedom of speech, and all those people out there who're too scared to speak up because they think nobody will listen to what they have to say. And I know what _you_ care about, Danse. You care about the Brotherhood, and you care about humanity... and most of all, you care about Blue. I know you do. You need her the way you need water, and air. Trying to deny it is just stupid. All you're doing is hurting yourself. Don't tell me it doesn't hurt, loving someone and not being able to tell them?”

Danse found himself nodding, and silently cursed. How on earth did Piper unearth the information she was looking for and convince people that it was their idea to tell her in the first place?

“There, you see?” Piper said gently. “But it doesn't have to be that way, Danse. I know that fighting is probably all you've ever known, but let me tell you this - if there's one thing left out there that's worth fighting for, it's love. Synth or no synth, you deserve to find happiness just as much as anyone in this world. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, okay? And don't be afraid. If you can find a little courage and fight for what you love, everything will work out in the end.”

Danse's mouth was open, but he couldn't seem to speak. Piper was a gifted writer, but her skill with words rarely translated so well into conversation; she frequently came across as awkward, abrupt, even a little rude at times. After all the times they'd made derogatory little comments to each other as they traded places at Margot's side, he'd never expected a heartfelt speech from her about hope and love, least of all one directed toward him. He was beginning to wonder if he'd misjudged the young woman after all. Perhaps the fearless reporter act was just a front - like the swagger Margot put on to show that she wasn't afraid of the world and didn't care how much heartache it threw at her, even when neither of those things was really true.

The journalist's bright hazel eyes were starting to bore more deeply into his, as if she was trying to work out what he was about to say in response. Danse had always dealt with penetrating stares quite well; Paladin Krieg's had had all the force of a javelin thrown at speed, and he'd soon learned how to return even the steeliest gaze unflinchingly. Piper, however, appeared to have a knack for making people uncomfortable, and he soon found himself looking down, first at his hands, and then his feet, in a desperate attempt to avoid any further eye contact.

“I – uh...”

“Hey, Danse!” Nick called out. He was returning from one of the offices with a bundle of papers in hand. “You're all paid up and good to go! Stop by the office on the way out and collect your personal effects, and then you're a free man!”

Relieved beyond words that he could finally walk away, both from captivity and the horror of having his personal life subjected to a reporter's keen-eyed scrutiny, Danse looked up from the floor.

“Thanks, Valentine,” he called, leaning past Piper and giving the detective a respectful salute. “You're a good friend.”

“Ah, don't get all sappy on me, you big lug,” said Nick shortly, although a small, faint smile seemed to be tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Go on, get out of here. And for the love of God, take a bath. You look like you've rolled down every hill in the Commonwealth.”

“No need to tell me twice. I'm hitting the showers as soon as I get out of here.”

“Good man. You do that.”

Nick Valentine departed, as he always did, in a swirl of faded trench-coat and a cloud of cigarette smoke. Danse and Piper watched him walk away.

“All right, buddy, time's up. You're free to go,” said a guard. He unlocked the cell door and slid it open. “Go on, beat it. We've got to have somewhere to put the drunks tonight when the bars close. Can't have you hogging all the space.”

Danse was only too glad to step out from the confines of the cell. He stood up, brushing some of the dried mud from his jeans and shirtsleeves.

“Hey, do that outside!” the guard barked at him. “Come on! We just mopped the floor!”

“Jeez, what a mess. I knew we should've hosed him down first,” another guard grumbled in the background.

“Apologies, sir,” said Danse meekly. “I'll be going.”

“Hey, Danse?” said Piper, grabbing his arm as he turned to go. “When you get back to Sanctuary, promise me you'll do me a favor?”

“Yes?”

Her expression became softer and more earnest.

“Please, Danse... just tell Blue how you feel. Don't spend your whole lives wondering if you could have been good for each other. If there's one thing I've learned out on the road, it's that life's too short for regrets.”

“Only if you promise to pull the advice column,” Danse told her. “Publish that and I'll have to go into hiding again. Probably forever.”

Piper beamed.

“Deal! But now you _have_ to tell her. If you don't, I'm reinstating _Dear Nat_ in all its glory. And I'll put it on the front page in the largest print I can find. Do I have your word?”

Danse sighed. The Brotherhood's traditional response was in danger of becoming his personal motto - he seemed to have exchanged the words with people more in the last few weeks than he had in the rest of his career. Still, he recited dutifully:

“My word is my bond, and my bond is Steel.”

“Good to know,” said Piper, apparently pleased with the promise. “Now if you'll excuse me, I think we both have somewhere better to be than the cells. I left the dress box at my place. You can pick it up later. Knock first if you're calling after hours, okay? Nat tends to shoot first and ask questions later.”

“Affirmative. Piper?”

She turned back to face him.

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” said Danse at last. “It was good advice.”

“Well duh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Be careful out on the road, Danse. You too, Dogmeat. I write too many obituaries as it is. Make sure you both get home safe tonight.”

“Wilco.”

“Yeah... uh... Whiskey Tango Foxtrot to you too. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Another guard tapped Danse on the shoulder before he could leave.

“Hey, buddy, aren't you forgetting something?”

Danse looked at him, at first bewildered, and then it dawned on him.

“My personal effects. Of course.”

“Surprised you were about to head out there without all your stuff. Come on back here so I can sign off on the receipt.”

Danse followed the guard into one of the side rooms and watched as the man rummaged through an old cardboard box and laid its contents on a desk, one by one.

“All right, let's see here. Items for Captain Stuart Danse. One 10mm pistol. One laser rifle. One combat knife – uh, used, apparently.”

“Super Mutant,” Danse elaborated, seeing the man's nervous expression. “Outside the walls.”

The guard relaxed again.

“One less to worry about, huh? Good for you. Nice rifle, by the way. She got a name?”

It was a relatively new laser rifle, lightly modified but still a work in progress. Danse hadn't given it a nickname yet. He tried to think of one; something deadly and worthy of admiration, which obliterated all his problems in a flash of ruby-red and left an indelible mark on everything else it touched. Without thinking, he raised his hand to his cheek.

“ _Margot's Kiss_ ,” he decided aloud. Margot loved laser weaponry. When he'd given _Righteous Authority_ to her as a reward for her assistance during the ArcJet mission, she'd exclaimed “Sweet!” and insisted that he teach her how to use it immediately. They'd spent all afternoon tracking down Ferals to vaporize so that she could get the hang of the weapon. Whenever he heard the hum of laser fire and the smell of ozone drifting in on the breeze, he thought of her.

The guard grinned.

“Hah, nice! Like the General. All right, let's get back to it. We have... two hundred fusion cells, five boxes of 10mm ammunition, and three fusion cores. Holy shit, are you going to war or something?”

“Supply run for the General. Joint ops with the Brotherhood of Steel. Can't say more than that.”

“Guess that explains it. Okay, we also have a bag of caps. Five hundred forty-two by my count. Sound about right to you?”

Danse nodded. The caps he'd thrown down at Ann Codman's feet had been recovered by the guards and returned to the woman and her husband. The rest were the remaining funds which Margot had entrusted to him for purchasing supplies.

“Good. Miscellaneous items - two Stimpaks, two cans of purified water, one can of Cram, one box of Dandy Boy Apples, one box of YumYum Deviled Eggs. Two cans of dog food. One plastic dog bowl. One bottle of codeine pills, fifty-count. One Walktronic gold pocket watch with inscription. One set of Brotherhood of Steel holotags. One copy of _Publick Occurrences_. And one pearl necklace, courtesy of Mrs. Codman. Your Power Armor's still by the gate. Kawolski said you owe him another ten caps for a late fee. Make sure you pay the precocious little bastard before you leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right then. Sign here, then pack your things and skedaddle.”

Danse scribbled a signature on the receipt and handed it back to the guard, then started to gather up his possessions, packing them neatly back into the duffle bag – except for the holotags, which he fastened around his neck.

“Done,” he said at last. “I was hoping to pick up some more medical supplies before I leave tonight. Is the Mega Surgery Center still open?”

“Nah, they'll be closed now. Come back tomorrow morning. You can rent a room at the Dugout Inn if you need somewhere to stay the night.”

“Acknowledged. Thank you. Come on, Dogmeat; time to go.”

Dogmeat let out a happy _“Woof!”_ and followed Danse out of the room, up the steps, and back out through the door. The bright lights of Diamond City beckoned them into the night, and the crowd enveloped them with a roar.

*

Diamond City boasted three establishments which provided food and drink to weary travelers. The first was Power Noodles, the stand in the marketplace run by the Protectron everyone called Takahashi. The second was the Colonial Taphouse, set high up in the Upper Stands; it was a more upmarket establishment, frequented by the likes of the Codmans, the Hawthornes, and other members of Diamond City's upper crust. Refreshments were served by an obnoxiously snooty Mister Handy robot named Wellingham, who had shooed Margot and Danse away the last time they'd attempted to order drinks. After Margot had threatened to come back with a Swatter and give Wellingham some free facial reconstruction, Danse had steered her tactfully away from the premises and advised her that it would be best to steer clear of that location in future.

The Taphouse definitely wasn't an option after what had transpired today, he decided, glancing up at the patio umbrellas which dotted the balcony on the Upper Stands. Walking into Ann Codman's favorite watering hole sounded like a good way to get into another fight, and he'd had enough trouble for one day. He gave the place a wide berth, and headed toward the concrete dugout instead.

The Dugout Inn was the third of Diamond City's bars, and the least salubrious, but Danse reminded himself that a reasonably warm welcome awaited within; food and drink were cheap, the bartender wasn't a robot, and if someone punched him in the face when he sat down at the bar, it was probably nothing personal.

He pushed open the rusting red door and stepped in. Dogmeat followed him, sniffing at a patch of spilled beer as he walked into the bar. They were met with the sight of concrete walls, shabby furniture, and a well-stocked bar. There were a few other people milling around; they glanced at Danse and Dogmeat without much interest, then returned to their drinks, apparently deciding that the newcomers weren't worth their time or attention.

“Vadim,” said an anxious-looking man, tugging at the bartender's elbow. “Brother, I need to talk to you about - ”

Vadim Bobrov, who was still wearing his patched suit, simply laughed and waved him away.

“Not now, Yefim. I am telling a story to our good friend, John Doe! Sorry, friend, where was I? Yes! Now, I wake up after a night of merriment in Goodneighbor and find myself next to a _very_ good neighbor called Shirley, in the Hotel Rexford. Beautiful blonde. We are both wearing nothing but baseball caps! I smile and say I need to go to bathroom, but I will be right back for more drinking and fun. But when I open bathroom door, there is a Brahmin standing there! I am not sure where Brahmin came from and ask Shirley if we order room service. She says yes, she ask reception desk to send her Brahmin steak – rare! I say is very rare to wake up and find Brahmin in hotel room with me! Haha! Brahmin did not like this at all. It chased me down the stairs and then - ”

Danse exchanged glances with the man in sunglasses sitting at the bar. He wore an undershirt, jeans and a black pompadour wig which a casual observer might well have mistaken for real hair. After several encounters with bystanders who bore a vague resemblance to someone he knew, he'd slowly started to recognize the telltale signs that Deacon was out and about doing... whatever he did.

“Evening,” said Deacon politely, with a poker face which could have cleaned out New Vegas.

“Citizen,” said Danse, returning the pleasantry with a nod. He wasn't sure what Deacon was up to, exactly, but if he was in disguise, then it didn't seem wise to blow his cover and expose him to potential harm.

Deacon was a strange character, he reflected, as he interrupted the bartender to order a beer and found himself being handed a bottle of Gwinnett Pale Ale. The man frequently made changes to his appearance and was always the first to resort to stealth and subterfuge during missions; he was also very cagey about his personal life and careful to evade questions about his home, family and occupation. He'd never liked the Brotherhood of Steel, and Danse hadn't trusted him either, but for some reason, Deacon's attitude had changed significantly after he'd learned that Danse was a synth - he'd even attempted to speak up a few times in Danse's defense when Margot's other friends started making wisecracks about robots. He couldn't help but wonder if there was more to Deacon's change of heart than sympathy; he suspected that Margot knew what was really behind it, but wasn't telling. Her refusal to share intelligence about Deacon was infuriating at times, although she'd assured him that nothing untoward was going on between them:

“ _He's not my type, Danse, don't worry. It's hard to be attracted to a man whose face never stays the same from one month to the next. Deacon's a great guy, and a great friend, but... no. That's never going to be a thing.”_

“ _Good. I strongly suggest you don't get involved with people who behave in such a furtive manner. It rarely ends well.”_

“ _Understood, Paladin. Hey, you got a spare fusion core? I'm almost out.”_

And that had been the end of the discussion.

Danse looked around for other familiar faces, and saw two he recognized. Sitting at a table beside the old Port-A-Diner machine were MacCready and Cait. MacCready had exchanged his suit for his usual mercenary garb, while Cait had overlaid her favorite corset and pants with a spiked armor ensemble and a blue scarf; her red hair had been roughly braided, as if to keep it out of her way on the road. Danse wondered if the pair were heading out to see Margot, or if their travels were taking them to more unsavory places, like Goodneighbor or Bunker Hill.

They were talking about something over a bottle of whiskey, and apparently enjoying their conversation; he heard loud, raucous laughter and the sound of glasses being slammed down with ever-increasing force. He was about to walk past them when he overheard his name, and Margot's. He stopped to listen, wondering what they had to say.

“... so you really think she and Danse are gettin' all hot and heavy these days?” Cait was saying. “Jeez, that's a hell of a thought. Imagine doin' it with _Danse_. The guy's got all the warmth and affection of a Sentry Bot. I can't imagine what she sees in him.”

“We-ell, she's got a thing for military guys,” said MacCready, with a sly wink. “You never know. Maybe she gets a kick out of that stuff.”

Cait gave him a sharp look.

“What? You mean like roleplay and all that? Shit, I'm not sure I want to think about that.”

“This is Paladin Pants, reporting for booty,” said MacCready solemnly, with a sloppy attempt at a Brotherhood salute. “Requesting permission to climb aboard, ma'am!”

Cait threw back her head, cackling like an exhibit from the Museum of Witchcraft.

“Oh God, that's too funny! Her and Captain Cosmos... God almighty. I wonder if he takes that damn Power Armor of his off.”

“I bet he doesn't. I feel sorry for Margot's neighbors. All they probably hear all day is _clankety-clankety-clank,_ _“Oh, Paladin Danse, you really are a superior officer! Don't stop!”,_ _clank-clank-crash-bang-thud._ ”

Cait choked on her drink, coughing whiskey over the tabletop.

“Goddammit, MacCready, I think I just got whiskey up me nose!” she complained, through her laughter. “I'm not sure what's going to leave me head first, the booze you just made me inhale, or the mental image.”

MacCready smirked.

“Yeah, no kidding. I wonder if he yells _“Ad victoriam!”_ when he...”

He trailed off when he saw Danse standing beside the table, stony-faced. Cait immediately found her glass of whiskey very interesting, and MacCready coughed, in an embarrassed fashion.

“Oh... uh, hey, Danse. How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Danse growled. “Listen up, MacCready. I don't give a damn what you have to say about me. But Margot's a good woman and I'm not about to let some punk friend of hers get away with badmouthing her in a bar, so knock it off. Understood?”

MacCready held up both hands.

“Hey, I was only - ”

“You were _only_ making the kind of remarks that ruin people's reputations,” said Danse coldly. “In public, I might add. After all the trouble she went to help you both, this is how you repay her? Gossiping about her for everyone to hear? I expected better from you two. Perhaps I shouldn't have. A runaway Gunner and an ex-junkie who punches Raiders in the face for caps aren't exactly the kind of friends you can rely on.”

“And who the hell d'you think you are, Danse, actin' all high and mighty?” snapped Cait, rising from her seat. “You're not exactly a catch yourself! You've been goin' around this whole time pretendin' to be somethin' you're not! At least the rest of us are honest about who and what we are - you only admitted it when the Brotherhood threw you out on your arse! Whatever happened to the real Danse, anyway? You think there was a real Danse and they replaced him with you? Or were you always a fake from the start?”

“I don't have to listen to this,” Danse retorted, and walked away.

“Yeah, that's right!” Cait yelled after him. “Walk away! Coward...”

MacCready rolled his eyes as she sat back down.

“Hey, what do you expect? He's a synth. Probably still waiting for the Institute to tell him how to respond. Or for Elder Maxson to order him to blow his own head off. I bet he'd do it, too.”

“Fuckin' robot,” Cait muttered into her drink. “Those things give me the creeps. I still say Margot should've shot him while she had the excuse. Bloody synths, goin' around replacin' people... I'm tellin' you, it's not right.”

For once, Danse was tempted to resort to obscenities and tell them exactly what he thought of them both. But there was a tightness in his chest, and his eyes were starting to blur and sting. He couldn't bring himself to turn back and face them.

He headed over to one of the couches instead. A young man in a long black coat sat primly on the edge of the age-stained cushions. His skin was the deep brown of earth, and his hair coal-black, shaved into a severe military cut; his eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, and his expression was calm and inscrutable. He was holding a glass of water and didn't appear to be availing himself of friendly company; if anything, the other patrons seemed to be taking care to avoid sitting anywhere near him.

Danse realized that Cait and MacCready were watching him as he approached the figure on the couch. They looked cautious, even slightly worried by his apparent intentions. Throwing a spiteful little smile in their direction, Danse took a seat on the opposite couch and greeted the other synth conspicuously.

“Good evening, X6-88,” he said, taking care to raise his voice so that MacCready and Cait could both overhear him. “How is life after the Institute?”

X6-88's lips pursed.

“M7-97. It's been a while. I am well. Thank you for asking. How are you faring on the surface?”

Danse winced a little at the use of his synth designation. He hated the reminder.

“I'm well,” he said, with dignity. “Thank you. Can I get you a drink?”

“No thank you,” said X6-88 mildly. “This glass of water will suffice. May I ask why you're here?”

“Supply run,” said Danse. He cracked open the bottle of Gwinnett Pale Ale and took a swig. “I'm heading out in the morning. You?”

“Now that the Institute's gone, I have nowhere else to go,” X6-88 said simply. “Margot de Havilland was supposed to be our new Director. Father entrusted the Institute to her care, in the hope that she would lead us to a bright new future - instead, she blew the place sky-high. Despite the evacuation order, Father and several other scientists were killed in the explosion. The rest scattered, and fled. I did not accompany them. With no safe place in which to seek refuge, there seemed to be little point. It was clear that the Institute's days were done.”

“I imagine that most of them found other places to go,” said Danse. He coughed. He was starting to regret engaging the former Institute Courser in conversation. “You know. Afterward.”

X6-88 gave him a long, impassive look.

“I doubt it. The scientists were not trained or equipped to deal with the hazards of the Commonwealth. Most of them had never even seen the surface. I doubt many of them survived. Although I see that one of our escaped synths has taken up residence in Diamond City. G5-19. If her new accent is anything to go by, her body appears to have been taken over by the artificial personality of a Miss Nanny robot. Curious.”

“You're referring to Curie, I take it?” said Danse, without thinking.

The Courser's eyebrows raised, but only by a small degree. There was an odd flatness to the synth's personality, as if he felt only a fraction of the emotion that most synths came programmed with as standard; his voice gave away little of what he was thinking or feeling, and his face gave away even less.

“The robot from Vault 81? Interesting. Not that it matters. There's no Institute to return her to. I have no orders, and no purpose. The proprietors of this place have permitted me to stay here for a time, in exchange for breaking up bar fights when the patrons become overly intoxicated. I feel that my skills are being woefully underutilized, but I seem to have no alternative but to agree.”

“There's always a choice,” said Danse right away. “You're not tied to the Institute any more. You're free. You can do whatever you want.”

“I do not know what I want,” X6-88 responded. “I was not programmed to _want_.”

“I have no idea what I was programmed to do,” Danse countered. “But when I found out I was a synth, I knew what I wanted. I wanted my old life back. When it became apparent that that wasn't possible, I realized that what I really wanted was a home, and a purpose. I found both those things with the Minutemen. Perhaps you could too. Anyone can be a Minuteman, as long as they're prepared to defend the local population from mutants and other threats, and they need people with combat training. You could do a lot of good for the Commonwealth.”

X6-88's expression wrinkled with mild disdain.

“I don't see the point of that. Although the Minutemen's situation has improved under the Director's command, their attempts to save the Commonwealth are clearly doomed to fail. The people here are contaminated with radiation and their settlements are regularly attacked by Super Mutants, Feral Ghouls, Raiders and Gunners, as well as a variety of dangerous wasteland creatures. Frankly, I'm amazed that anyone is able to survive up here at all; I wonder why they even try. The settlers must know that their efforts are futile.”

The Courser's response left a bad taste in Danse's mouth. The Institute hadn't cared about anyone up on the surface. They'd treated the Commonwealth as a lost cause and preyed upon its people whenever they needed test subjects for their experiments; in return, they'd used their technology to unleash horrors like Super Mutants and inflict untold suffering on the world above. Thankfully, Margot had seen her son's beloved Institute as the threat to humanity it truly was, and she'd personally overseen its eradication - he vividly remembered the sight of the mushroom cloud rising over Boston's ruined skyline, and the look on her face as fire and smoke had ascended into the sky. Whether the Institute had been obliterated in the name of the Minutemen or the Brotherhood of Steel didn't matter any more - it was gone now, and the world was a better place for its absence. But he wasn't tactless enough to say so in front of X6-88, who had served the Institute the same way Danse had served the Brotherhood, and who clearly still resented its destruction at Margot's hands.

“I'm sorry you feel that way, X6,” he said eventually. “I hope that you can find another purpose in life. If I can assist in some way - ”

“No doubt your offer of assistance is Director de Havilland's doing,” said X6-88. His upper lip curled, very slightly. “How nice of her to care about me now, after she destroyed my home and killed my colleagues. Perhaps she should have given more consideration to my welfare before she opted to blow up the Institute. I will not help her, or her Minutemen, after what she did. Honestly, I'm not sure why you're even talking to me. It appears we have very little in common, and even less to say to each other, given your obvious allegiance to her cause.”

“And yet you're still talking to me,” Danse observed. “Why?”

X6-88 shrugged.

“It breaks the monotony. Solitude becomes... tiresome, after a while.”

“You mean you're lonely.”

The Courser shrugged again.

“Loneliness... I suppose you could call it that. Few people around me seem willing to converse. Of course, they know what I am. The logical response would be to avoid an Institute Courser, not approach it and ask to buy it a drink. However, I can't help but notice a curious sense of isolation.”

“I know how that feels,” Danse confessed. “After I was cast out of the Brotherhood of Steel, I lost everything I'd ever known. I thought nobody would even care if I lived or died. But then Margot came looking for me... she reached out to me and told me that I wasn't alone after all. I remember how grateful I was for that. Knowing that someone was there for me made all the difference.”

Something he never thought he'd feel toward an Institute Courser suddenly moved him; pity. Now that the Institute was no more, X6-88 found himself in the same position as Danse back at Listening Post Bravo, save for one crucial factor - there was nobody who cared enough to come after him and tell him that everything would be all right. If Margot hadn't been there for _him_ , Danse knew exactly what would have happened. He closed his eyes in agony at the thought of what he'd almost done in his despair. That feeling of being utterly, wretchedly _alone..._

“X6... I know that we've never been friends,” he found himself saying, much to his own surprise. “Our objectives have always been diametrically opposed, and we never had much to say to each other. But I've been where you are, and I know how much it hurts to lose everything but your life. My offer of assistance was genuine. If you need help, or even just someone to talk to, then all you have to do is ask. You don't have to face this alone.”

For the briefest of moments, X6-88 looked taken aback.

“That's appreciated,” he said at last. “Thank you. It's not often that others attempt to show me kindness.”

Danse attempted a smile.

“Well, as a Minuteman, it's my duty to reach out and offer to help to a fellow citizen in need. And even if you don't believe in humanity the way I do, you have to acknowledge that cooperation is the key to survival in the Commonwealth. Helping out your neighbors isn't just the right thing to do, it's the only logical response. We have to stick together if we want to survive.”

“With people like Mrs. Codman and the Brotherhood of Steel threatening to exterminate our kind at every turn, then I would say that there's some merit in your argument,” said X6-88, after appearing to give the notion some consideration. “There is a certain amount of safety to be found in numbers, although I doubt that I would find a very warm welcome if I were to show up in Sanctuary Hills. Even if Director de Havilland were to offer me refuge there or in some other allied settlement – which is doubtful, given our recent history - the settlers would turn and run at the sight of an Institute Courser. And I don't blame them. We were built to seek and destroy.”

Danse looked around at the other patrons, then leaned in and lowered his voice.

“May I ask you a question?”

“You may. What is your question?”

Danse almost hesitated to ask, but it had been bothering him for a while; if he didn't ask now, then he might never know. Living in ignorance hadn't done him any favors before, and even if the truth was horrible, at least he would _know_.

“What am I?” he said, after a pause. “I know I'm a synth, but who made me, and why? What was I built to do?”

“A good question. I'm not sure,” said X6-88 slowly. “Your designation as one of the M-series synths would appear to indicate that you were intended for use as an infiltration unit. To what end, I don't know. There were no mission directives listed for you in our files. As I told the Director before our... falling-out, I didn't even know that you were a synth.”

 _An infiltration unit,_ thought Danse. He felt sick. A spy, intended to move among humans and imitate them exactly. Elder Maxson had been right after all. He'd suspected and feared as much.

“Was I built to replace someone? Was there a real Danse?”

X6-88 shook his head briskly.

“Before the Institute's destruction, I admit that I found myself curious as to why no Courser had been assigned to recover you after you went missing, and so I looked into the matter. The only reference to you in our archives was an entry made by a member of the BioScience division. It contained a record of your DNA and synth designation number, but was otherwise heavily redacted. I assume that was what the Brotherhood found when they exposed you as a synth. But to answer your question - no, it doesn't appear that you were intended to take the place of a human up on the surface. The SRB kept extensive records of human-replacement units and you were nowhere to be found on any of those lists. I checked them thoroughly.”

Danse could have wept with relief. There was no family waiting for a husband and father who would never come home; no grieving wife and child who needed to be avenged. Even if the memories of the man named Danse were works of fiction, that was surely better than knowing that his life had been stolen away from a real person and lived at his expense.

“So I'm the only Danse there is?” he said, breathing out again.

“You would appear to be unique, yes. Do you have any additional questions?”

“No. That was it.”

X6-88 set down his glass of water.

“Very well. Then please excuse me. I intend to take a walk before I commence my duties this evening.”

Danse finished his beer and placed the empty bottle on the table.

“Of course,” he said. “Thank you for your time. Although - ”

X6-88 had been about to stand up and leave. He returned to a sitting position.

“Yes?”

“You're a Courser,” Danse said out loud. “Your job was to track down people. And things. Correct?”

“Indeed,” purred X6-88. “Coursers are relentless. We will stop at nothing to achieve our objectives.”

“Then perhaps you could help me with something,” said Danse. He leaned forward again, across the table. “You see, I'm looking for something which belonged to Margot before the war. Her law diploma, from the Suffolk County School of Law. I'm not sure what it looked like, but she told me it was a piece of paper in a wooden frame. It was taken by scavengers and she wants it back.”

X6-88 frowned, almost imperceptibly.

“I have no desire to assist Director de Havilland any further. What she did to Father and the Institute was unforgivable.”

“Then do it for me,” said Danse instead. “Look, I won't try to claim any kinship with you. Maybe I called her son Father once, like you did. Maybe I didn't. I don't remember my time at the Institute. But I have caps, you have the necessary skills, and I'm willing to offer the appropriate recompense for your time and efforts.”

The synth let out a low, quiet chuckle.

“You want to hire an Institute Courser and have me chase a piece of paper to the ends of the earth? Why? What does it matter if Margot de Havilland finds her law school diploma in a world where lawyers have no purpose?”

“It matters to me. She cares about it. And I care about her.”

“You're in love with her.”

It wasn't a question; it was a statement, delivered plainly and without any trace of emotion. Danse was about to deny it, as he always did, but somehow he found that he couldn't. He nodded instead.

“If we were in the Institute, I'd send you to the SRB to be reprogrammed,” X6-88 said, giving him an odd, cold look. “The ability to form such an intense emotional attachment to a human being falls well outside the normal scope of your programming. But now that the Institute is gone and there's no SRB to correct the anomaly, I'm afraid you'll just have to live with it. Just try not to read into it too deeply. The belief that you're in love is an intriguing glitch in your personality matrix, but nothing more.”

“Love isn't a malfunction,” said Danse defensively. “I'm not a machine.”

“Exactly how many caps are we talking about here?” said X6-88, deftly changing tack.

Danse named a price. X6-88 named another. They haggled briefly, then shook hands across the table.

“Agreed. Thank you for your cooperation, citizen.”

“The pleasure is mine,” said X6-88 politely. “I'm glad to have a fresh assignment. I will, of course, have to inform the proprietors of this establishment that they will have to find a new bouncer until I return.”

“I'm sure they can manage without you.”

“They managed before,” said X6-88, with a little shrug. “Very well. I will begin my search immediately. Caps payable on delivery, as agreed.”

Danse nodded.

“Good,” said X6-88. He stood up. “Then I'll take my leave. I wish you a safe journey home, M7-97.”

“My name is Danse.”

“Danse, then. Safe travels.”

X6-88 headed for the door. Danse watched him go, then turned to Dogmeat.

“Well, that was an interesting encounter,” he said. “Think he'll be able to find that law diploma for Margot, soldier?”

Dogmeat began to lick himself.

“I'll take that as a maybe,” said Danse. He shook his head. “It's getting late. Let's see if we can get a room for the night.”

He got up and approached Yefim Bobrov, the innkeeper.

“Excuse me, citizen. How much for a room?”

“Ten caps,” said the man. He seemed much quieter and less gregarious than his brother, who was booming out another outrageous story to a pair of disinterested patrons. “Interested?”

“Yes, I'll take it. Thank you. Any chance of a shower?”

Yefim shook his head in an apologetic way.

“No showers here. We can get you a bucket, so you can wash. And Scarlett can put those clothes through the laundry for another five caps.”

“Done,” said Danse. “Fifteen caps. Here.”

Bottlecaps changed hands. Yefim smiled.

“All right. Room 3 is yours until morning. Check-out by ten, so Scarlett can clean the room. Leave your clothes by the door and she'll take care of them.”

Danse took the key from his hand, and remembered that he owed the orphan outside an extra few caps for taking care of his Power Armor.

“The hell with it,” he said out loud. “I'll pay him in the morning. Come on, Dogmeat. Let's get some sleep.”

*

Margot had been too ashamed to face Codsworth after her earlier outburst, so she'd walked in the opposite direction instead, all the way to Abernathy Farm. She'd chatted a little with Blake and Connie's daughter, Lucy, who'd told her about her burgeoning friendship with Minuteman Holmes, Maisie's imminent kittens, and a few other bits and pieces of local news. It had been a pleasant visit, but after an hour or two of friendly conversation and some pointed reminders from Lucy's mother that there were still chores to be done around the farm, Margot had become aware that she was in danger of outstaying her welcome. She'd considered walking on to Sunshine Tidings, but she wasn't dressed for the road; without her usual armor or equipment, she hadn't been properly prepared for any dangers she might encounter, and so she'd turned and headed for home with a heavy heart.

Codsworth had been waiting for her at the door. She'd hoped to walk in regally, unruffled, as if their confrontation had never happened, but the moment she'd seen the robot's friendly metal visage, she'd broken down and grabbed him, hugging the round dome of his head close to her chest.

“I'm sorry, Codsworth!” she'd bawled into his steel casing. “You were right! You're the best robot butler in the whole world and all you ever do is help me, even when I don't deserve it! I shouldn't have yelled at you earlier... I didn't mean it. I'm so sorry.”

A spindly metal arm had patted her on the shoulder.

“It's all right, mum. No need to apologize.”

She'd looked down at him tearfully.

“Yes, there is. You were trying to help and I was _horrible_ to you. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Of course, mum,” he'd said, his voice slightly muffled by her bosom. “Always. Now if you wouldn't mind letting go, I really ought to start preparing dinner...”

“Oh, Codsworth,” she'd said, smiling and releasing him. “I don't deserve you.”

“Don't be daft, mum,” Codsworth had reassured her. “Of course you do. Now why don't you sit and wait for Master Shaun to come back from his little wasteland safari, while I get started on that stew?”

Margot had taken his advice; while Codsworth busied himself in the background with dinner, she sat down to watch television, hoping to forget about things for a while.

It hadn't worked. Cartoons and sitcoms had been interrupted every half-hour with the same broadcast by the AntAgonizer. When seven o'clock had rolled around and a re-run of _Upton Manor_ had been cut off halfway through with threats of vengeance against the Brotherhood of Steel, she'd given up altogether and poured herself a glass of scotch. Codsworth had given her an uncertain look, but said nothing. She'd downed it, poured another, then plugged in the holotape which her husband and infant son had made for her – the one with _“Hi Honey!”_ written in Nate's faded, untidy handwriting on the front. She'd listened to their voices through the Pip-Boy's speakers for what had to have been the thousandth time since the end of the world. For the first time, she'd smiled sadly, but there had been no tears.

Now it was getting dark outside, and she found herself scribbling down plans for Nate's funeral on the back of an old, scorched fashion magazine. Tentative arrangements, to take place at some indeterminate point in the future. She'd have to speak to the Brotherhood about how things needed to be done, and take their advice on the fine details she'd overlooked.

_Do I feel better now that I'm trying to move on and let Nate find eternal rest the old-fashioned way? Or will I feel worse for kissing him goodbye one last time and then never seeing his sweet face again? Why am I even doing this? Is it really for his sake, or mine? Not that it matters. Danse and I still can't be together, even though it would be so easy to let myself keep falling for him. If only there wasn't so much standing in the way..._

She smacked her lips thoughtfully. She was trying to imagine how things would have panned out on the bridge if Preston hadn't come along at precisely the wrong moment. Another minute alone, and Danse's mouth would have met hers. Her lips burned at the recollection of it; she wanted to sigh at the memory of that sweet sense of anticipation, and the way he'd closed his eyes a little as he'd leaned toward her. It was a moment she still cherished, fiercely and in secret, even if it had never come to fruition.

_Talk about a kiss to build a dream on. Just as well it never happened, because I don't think I would ever have been able to forget it. I know I can't love him... but I can't get him out of my head either. I miss him so much._

“Codsworth? Danse isn't back from Diamond City yet, is he?” she ventured.

“No, mum. I'm afraid Knight-Captain Danse still hasn't returned. Incidentally, that's the third time you've asked this evening,” Codsworth reminded her gently. “I can check with the sentries if you want, to see if he's reported in since the last time we spoke, but I'm sure he'd be the first to inform you of his return.”

Margot sighed, and laid down her pen on the coffee table.

“I know. I hope he's all right. He should have been back _hours_ ago.”

“Probably just delayed, mum,” said Codsworth, in reassuring tones. “Don't fret. Knight-Captain Danse is a sensible chap and he knows better than to travel alone in the dark. He probably decided to stay overnight in Diamond City. I'm sure he'll be back in the morning.”

Margot breathed out. That seemed a more realistic possibility than the mental images she was torturing herself with – Danse and Dogmeat on the road in the middle of the night, beset by Raiders, Mirelurks, Feral Ghouls and Super Mutants from all sides, with a few angry Paragons of Steel in hijacked Vertibirds for good measure. Of course he was all right, and staying somewhere safe inside the city walls.

And yet the idea of Danse being in trouble gnawed away at her nonetheless - not quite satisfied by reason, it seemed to be trying to find some new fear to feast on. She imagined Danse lying in a ditch somewhere, unconscious and bleeding, while Dogmeat whined and pawed at him in vain; the thought of it made her want to scream into her own hands. If harm had befallen Danse on the road and she could never watch the night sky with him again, then there was no point in anything. The sun might as well go dark, and the moon fall from the sky.

 _I might as well be dead,_ she thought gloomily.

Shaun came running in through the front door, with a magnifying glass and something in a glass jar. He was beaming with pride.

“Hey, Mom! Look what I found!”

He hurried over to show her his discovery. Glad of the distraction, Margot peered into the container to see what he'd found. Right at the bottom of the jar were a pair of ladybugs, a caterpillar with odd striations of color along its back, and a two-headed grasshopper.

“Wow, look at those!” she exclaimed, grinning. “My clever little bug-hunter. Where did you find them, sweetie?”

“They were on the monkey-bars, down by the playground. Is it time for dinner yet?”

“Perfect timing, young sir! Radstag stew tonight!” Codsworth announced. “All right, you two, come and sit down. I'll serve.”

Margot got up to join Shaun and Codsworth at the dining table. She watched as Codsworth doled out two bowlfuls of stew with an old stainless-steel ladle, but while Shaun dove straight in and gulped it down as if he'd gone a month without calories, she found herself picking listlessly at her own portion.

“Everything all right, mum?” said Codsworth, after a while. “You've hardly touched your food. I do hope you aren't ill?”

Margot shook her head.

“No, I'm fine. I... just have a lot on my mind right now. Sorry. I guess I don't have much of an appetite. Shaun, do you want the rest?”

Shaun nodded immediately and took the bowl from her hands. Before long, he'd finished the second helping too; she watched him wipe a hunk of bread along the bottom of the bowl in the hope of securing a few more drops of stew.

“Hey, Mom, Codsworth says it's your turn to read to me tonight,” he said at last.

“I think he's right. What are we reading right now? I can't remember. Did we finish _Beauty and the Beast_?”

“Yeah. We just started _Treasure Island_.”

“Okay. Go clean your teeth and get ready for bed. I'll help Codsworth clear up and then I'll be there to read to you.”

Shaun ran off. Codsworth scooped up empty dishes and bobbed away into the kitchen, humming contentedly to himself. She did her best to help him, although she couldn't shake the feeling that she was merely getting in his way; he worked so efficiently that there was almost no need to render assistance.

“Codsworth?” she said, when they were finished.

The robot spun around at the light touch on his chassis.

“Yes, mum?”

“Thank you,” Margot told him. “For everything you do. I don't think I say that enough.”

“No need to thank me for doing my job, mum!”

“I beg to differ. You've always been there to help me when I needed you. If it weren't for you, I never would have survived outside the Vault.”

Codsworth looked touched; the pupils of his eye sensors grew wide, and his stance relaxed.

“Oh, mum. It's kind of you to say so, although I think you're a good deal stronger than you realize. You were always a tower of strength for sir, holding everything together while he was off fighting on the front lines. He believed in you, you know. And so did all those people you represented so splendidly in court. You never lost a case! Well, except that one chap who claimed that it was his right to distribute socialist propaganda under the First Amendment,” he added conscientiously. “But then again, he _did_ try to climb out of the courthouse window during his trial. There's only so much one can do to be of assistance in those circumstances.”

Margot smiled.

“Hey, I tried. Not that he was grateful, but I'd like to think I'm the reason he only got six years instead of twenty-five.”

“Of that, mum, I have no doubt,” said Codsworth stoutly. “You always do your best to help people, and I must say I admire you enormously for that. One might have forgiven you for staying at home to come to terms with your loss, but you knew people were depending on you to make things better, so off you went, out into the world! And in my considered opinion, the Commonwealth is a much nicer place now that you're back in it. Perhaps it's the old optical sensors malfunctioning, but I _do_ think the sun shines a tad brighter whenever you're around.”

Margot kissed him on the top of his head.

“You're a darling. I don't know how I'd ever manage without you.”

“You're too kind, mum,” murmured Codsworth, discreetly reaching for a dishrag to wipe the lipstick mark from his outer casing. “If I had a heart, no doubt it would be warmed by your words. It truly is a pleasure to serve you and your family. I hope I can continue to do so for many years to come.”

Shaun came running back into the room, with traces of toothpaste foam around his mouth.

“Hey Mom, I'm ready for bed! Can you read to me now?”

Margot couldn't help smiling. He'd put his pajamas on backward in his haste to get changed.

“You bet. _Treasure Island,_ right? That used to be your aunt Peggy's favorite story. I remember your grandpa reading it to her when she was your age...”

She followed Shaun to his room, tucked him into bed, and opened up the foxed, faded book she'd found in the ruins. Shaun's eyes were already shining as she started to read to him, his young imagination swept up in a tale of buried treasure, talking parrots and ships at sea. He reminded her suddenly of the little Squires on the _Prydwen_ , sitting in their bunks and listening intently as Danse read out excerpts from _Astoundingly Awesome Tales_. Danse had a wonderful voice. She could have sat beside him and listened to him read forever.

_I bet he'd like this story too. I wish he were here to listen right now._

When Shaun's eyelids began to droop even after the introduction of dastardly pirates, Margot closed the book and kissed him on the forehead.

“Goodnight, Shaun. Love you lots.”

“Love you lots too, Mom,” he mumbled, half-asleep.

“Sweet dreams, darling.”

Margot switched off the bedroom light as she left the room. She crossed the hall to her bedroom and changed into an old nightgown, reflecting on how glad she was to finally have drapes covering the windows again. They moved gently in the breeze, but although they provided little protection from the elements, they did give her a little more privacy, and shut out a little more of the night.

“Goodnight, Codsworth!” she called.

“Goodnight, mum! Sleep well!”

 _I doubt it,_ she thought, trying not to sigh. _Not until Danse is home. Wherever he is, I hope he's all right..._

She climbed into bed, huddling under the covers, and imagined a world where she could sleep peacefully by his side. It was the most distant dream she could have envisioned, and yet the thought of it made her smile into her pillow.

When sleep took her away at last, it was to a place untouched by radiation; a world where Danse brought her roses and whispered her name against her cheek in the dead of night. It felt more real than real life ever had.

*

Miles away in Diamond City, Danse was dreaming with open eyes, staring up at the ceiling of his hotel room. Dogmeat lay on the floor beside the bed, grumbling soft doggy noises; his legs twitched as he chased after imaginary Mole Rats in his sleep.

With a sigh, Danse unfolded his arms from behind his head and shifted his weight, turning over onto his side. The painkillers were starting to kick in; slowly but surely, the pain in the back of his head was loosening its grip, and his body was surrendering to the need to sleep. Through the room's concrete walls, he heard the clink of glassware, the faint sounds of a scuffle, and Vadim's booming laughter.

He closed his eyes and imagined the blood-red lips which formed petulant pouts and slow, sultry smiles with ease; the dark, smoldering eyes which contained universes within their depths, and the luscious curves of hips which transformed close-fitting military jumpsuits into _haute couture_. She had no idea what she did to him. Even the sound of her voice was enough to make the blood run hotter in his veins.

He couldn't stand it any more. The more he tried to suppress the feeling and bury it somewhere deep in his chest, the harder it seemed to be fighting to get out. There seemed to be no containing it.

 _Tomorrow,_ he decided at last. _I'll tell her tomorrow._

His heart started to pound at the thought. Already he found himself wondering what he was going to say when that weathered orange door opened and he saw Margot standing on the other side. His training hadn't prepared him for anything like this; even the Codex was woefully silent on the subject of romancing beautiful Pre-War lawyers with entire armies of men at their command.

But that was a problem for tomorrow. Perhaps inspiration would come to him in his dreams. Danse closed his eyes a little tighter, burrowed down into the soft spot in the center of the mattress, and tried to sleep.

 


	11. Et Nos Cedamus Amori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Omnia vincit amor; et nos cedamus amori." - Virgil

Margot awoke just after dawn to the sound of marching feet and trembling earth.

 _Danse,_ she thought at once.

With her heart already soaring, she threw back the blankets, jumped out of bed and ran down the hall. But when she flung the front door open joyfully and ran out into the street in her nightgown and bare feet, she was met with the sight of a column of Minutemen in an assortment of Power Armor. Three strode along in T-45 suits, painted respectively with military drab, camouflage paint, and the symbol of the Minutemen - three stars and a rifle bisected by a bolt of lightning. There was a T-51 suit in winterized white, and another with a pattern of flames inspired by the pages of an old _Hot Rodder_ magazine. One guy was strutting proudly in Atom Cats T-60 armor, while another trudged sulkily after him in a hot-pink suit of Curie's enthusiastic design – she'd lovingly added some decals of happy kittens to the breastplate and upper arms. Bringing up the rear, in a badly-scorched T-60 suit which had once been decorated with a shark-themed paint job, was Preston.

“Preston!” she called, when they came to a halt outside the house.

Preston turned at the sound of her voice, and saluted her.

“Good morning, General,” he said. Dirt streaked the dark brown of his skin, and there was a small abrasion on one cheek, just above his jawline. “Reporting in, ma'am. We've conducted a full investigation at Oberland Station. Those ants are very definitely gone.”

“They are now,” said another Minuteman, his voice tinny behind the helmet of his Power Armor. “A few stragglers, but you and Captain Danse did a great job back there, ma'am. There wasn't much left of that nest, and what there was didn't give us much trouble. Just a couple of workers and one soldier ant – Colonel Garvey took care of him.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Preston agreed. He saw her face, and added, apologetically, “Sorry about the suit, ma'am. I'll get Sturges to fix it up for you before I - ”

“I don't care about the suit,” Margot interrupted. “I have more of those things than I know what to do with. Don't worry about it. Have you seen Danse anywhere?”

Preston looked startled.

“Captain Danse? I thought he'd gone to Diamond City for a supply run. You mean he isn't back yet?”

Margot shook her head, crestfallen.

“No. I was hoping you might have seen him on the road – or that maybe he'd called in at Oberland Station on the way home to lend a hand with that ant nest. What took you guys so long, anyway? I thought you'd be back a little sooner than this.”

She hadn't meant the last sentence to sound so critical, but she hadn't had any coffee and her nerves were starting to fray at the thought that Danse was still unaccounted for. Preston seemed to understand, however; he just smiled.

“Sorry for the delay, General. It took us a while to investigate the full extent of that ant hill. You should have seen how far some of those tunnels extended - one of them ran almost the whole way under the farmhouse! We had to fill that one in to make sure the place didn't collapse into the ground. That probably took up more time than clearing out what was left of the nest.”

“In that case, I'm glad you stayed a little longer. Sounds like you did the settlers a big favor by making sure everything was stable,” said Margot, taking care to adopt a more conciliatory tone. Preston had done exactly what she'd told him to do, and it seemed churlish to complain when she was in no way dissatisfied with his work. “Did you find anything interesting below ground?”

Preston's smile faded.

“I'm afraid not, General. Nothing of note, anyway. We cleared out a few clutches of ant eggs – those things are pretty tasty when you grill them on a campfire, you know,” he said, brightening again. “And Minuteman Burns has one hell of a recipe for fire ant fricassee. I bet Codsworth would like to have it.”

“I'm sure he would,” Margot agreed. “So the settlement's okay? The settlers haven't had any more problems?”

“Not with ants, ma'am. Some broken machine-gun turrets after a couple of Raiders tried to rush the place the other night, but nothing Minuteman Turner wasn't able to take care of.”

Margot gave him the thumbs-up.

“Excellent work, Preston. Sounds like you and the boys did a great job out there. Thanks for checking it out.”

Preston smiled.

“Not a problem, General. Anything else you'd like me to do?”

 _Go out there and find out where the hell Danse is,_ she wanted to say. _Tell him he's an asshole for making me worry like this. Throw him over your shoulder if you have to, but please bring him home safe and sound._

“No, that should do it. Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you?”

She indicated to the graze on his cheek. Preston raised his hand to his face, then laughed.

“Oh, that? Ah, it's nothing. Caught my foot on a tree root on the way out and hit the deck. Should be right as rain in a few days. Just a shame we couldn't find the AntAgonizer down there for you, ma'am.”

“Yeah, that is a shame. Never mind, we'll track her down. As soon as Danse gets back, we'll head out and check out the GNN Plaza. I'm sure we'll find some clues there.”

“If anyone can find her, General, it's you,” Preston assured her.

Something about the way he'd said it reminded Margot a little of Codsworth. Loyal, kind, terminally helpful and always eager to please – they were two of a kind, although Preston was the more courageous of the pair, always rushing into the fray with his laser musket at the ready. He'd saved her life more times than she could count. How did she deserve to have friends like him? She probably didn't, but she opted not to study her good fortune too closely, lest it disappear in a puff of smoke and leave her standing alone in the ruins of the world.

“Thanks, Preston,” she said instead. “Hey, if you see Danse anywhere – let me know, okay?”

Preston saluted.

“Absolutely, General.”

He turned to the Minutemen.

“All right, Minutemen, fall out!” he ordered, in a louder and more commanding voice; Margot almost felt herself wanting to stand to attention and salute. “Return that Power Armor to the General's workshop, and then you can head back to the barracks for some down-time.”

“And breakfast, sir?” said the Minuteman in pink Power Armor hopefully.

“Yes, Minuteman Johnson, we'll have breakfast too,” Preston told him, with the infinite patience Margot wished she had. She already found herself irritable at the thought that she'd rushed out of bed, only to find that Danse was still nowhere to be found and that she'd just appeared in front of her men in a disheveled state. “Now get that Power Armor back where it belongs. Dismissed!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Sorry to get you out of bed, General,” Preston added, nodding at her nightgown, as the Minutemen marched away in unison. “I hope we didn't wake you.”

“That's all right. Welcome back, Preston. Good to have you home.”

“Thanks, ma'am. It's good to be back.”

Shaun came running out through the front door.

“Hi, Mr. Garvey! How was your mission?”

“Hey, champ, good to see you!” said Preston, laughing, as Shaun ran up to hug him. “We had a great mission! Took care of the rest of that ant nest and made sure everybody at Oberland Station was safe. Busted up your mom's Power Armor, though. Sorry about that.”

“Aww, not the one with the sharks on it?” said Shaun, face falling. “That was my favorite one! You can fix it, right?”

“Oh, sure,” said Preston. He smiled. “Don't worry, it just needs some new paint, that's all. A few bugs aren't enough to break through Power Armor.”

Shaun looked relieved.

“Oh good. Hey, I found some bugs yesterday in the playground. Not as big as the ones you probably saw, but I can show you if you want!”

“That sounds good,” said Preston, nodding. “Mind if I stop by after breakfast?”

Shaun looked up, seeking his mother's approval.

“Mom, is that okay? Can Mr. Garvey come over and see the bugs I found?”

“Of course he can,” Margot told him. “Let me head in and get changed first, and then you guys can hang out for a little. Have you had anything to eat yet?”

“Yeah, Codsworth gave me some Sugar Bombs.”

“Okay then. Go and play for a little while until Mr. Garvey's ready to come over, then you can show him that neat caterpillar you found.”

“Thanks, Mom!”

Shaun raced off through the gate into the back yard, like a little guided missile. Margot smiled fondly after him.

“He's a good kid,” she said out loud.

Preston smiled too.

“He sure is, General. Now if you'll excuse me, I should - ”

“Yeah, sure,” she said quickly. “Sorry. Go ahead. I'll see you later.”

Preston turned and strode off to the armory; the other Minutemen were already returning, shed of their borrowed Power Armor and discussing something they'd heard on Radio Freedom.

“Heard there was a big punch-up in Diamond City yesterday,” one of them was saying. “One of the mayoral candidates got into it with one of our boys during the speeches. They both got arrested!”

“Ah, it's Diamond City,” said the other lightly. “They'll both be out by now if they paid their fines. Hate to be in our guy's shoes when the General finds out, though. If the Colonel doesn't tear him a new one for bringing the Minutemen into disrepute, she will for sure...”

Margot listened without much interest. That wasn't the kind of thing Danse would get embroiled in. She'd been in a bar fight once – a staged one, courtesy of Vadim Bobrov, so that young Travis “Lonely” Miles could save the day and gain some much-needed confidence. Danse had been horrified when she'd told him about the incident later, and he'd scolded her for getting involved in something so undignified. He'd used the words “conduct unbecoming of a Knight”, and she'd hung her head in shame at having disappointed her mentor.

She went back inside to get ready for the day, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the clothes which Codsworth had laid out with robotic precision on the bed. A pale blue-green blouse with polka dots, short sleeves and a rounded collar; some high-waisted tan slacks; a pair of white loafers. The outfit she'd been wearing on the day the bombs fell; the same clothes she'd exchanged for the blue Vault 111 suit on entry and found folded in a locker two hundred and ten years later, untouched by dust, age or time.

_The last time I wore these, Nate was still alive. Shaun was just a baby. Everything was all right. And then it wasn't._

For some time, she hesitated to unfold the clothes. She considered exchanging them for a dress, or her Brotherhood uniform, or just about anything else. In the end, she decided that Codsworth would only be offended if she rejected his fashion advice without any real reason. She put on the clothes, fastening the buttons at her throat and her waist. They shouldn't have still fit so perfectly, after all this time, as if she'd never been away.

Margot brushed out her hair and reapplied her lipstick. The movement was automatic now; she held the compact mirror in her left hand and carefully traced the lines of her lips with her right. When she was satisfied with the results, she puckered up, as if to blow her reflection a kiss, then smiled.

_Everyone needs a little something to give them the confidence to get out of bed and face the day. Travis has his radio station; Cait has a shot of whiskey; Danse has his Power Armor, and I have my lipstick. Without those barriers between us and the world, people might find out that we're not invincible after all. After all, without my General's coat and my lipstick, I'm just another wastelander. Without his charm, Travis is a wimpy guy afraid of everything and everyone. And without his armor, Danse is... well, the same wonderful guy he's always been, but he looks so lost. Like he's always had a map to the world, and someone's just snatched it out of his hands. I'll be glad to see him back in uniform again._

She opened the drapes, hoping to see him strolling into town with Dogmeat at his side. She only saw Preston, back in his duster and officer's uniform, heading toward the barracks. He looked around to see her watching from the window, and gave her a friendly wave. She returned the gesture politely and turned away from the window, so that he wouldn't see her disappointment.

She'd dreamed about Danse last night, but midnight had shaken her awake for no reason, as it so often did; she'd lain awake for hours, twisting the corner of her blanket around her fingers and wondering where he might be. She'd hoped that he'd stopped off at Oberland Station to help out his fellow Minutemen, but Preston had put paid to that theory. Now she was starting to wonder again if there were darker things keeping Danse from her than inclement weather.

 _Oh, Danse,_ she prayed silently, even as she fought the sudden urge to grab _Bugzapper_ and her Power Armor and march out in search of him. _Please be okay out there. Please come home._

She closed her eyes and tried to bring Danse to mind, as if thinking of him might somehow call him home to her. She hardly needed to concentrate to see his face; she could almost smell painted armor and the musky aroma of fresh sweat, mixed in with the dusty smell of her husband's old shirt. More than anything else, she wanted him here by her side, so she could hold onto him and hear him tell her that everything was all right...

A knock on the door made her eyes open wide. Her heart started to beat faster.

“Danse?” she said out loud.

“It's Mr. Garvey, mum,” she heard Codsworth call out from the living room.

Margot shook herself. How long had she been standing here, daydreaming? Had breakfast passed her by already?

“Hey, Shaun!” she called. “Mr. Garvey's here! Can you let him in?”

She heard the sound of toys being dropped on the floor, and small feet thundering toward the front door. The door clicked open; she heard boots, and friendly greetings. When she emerged from the bedroom, she saw Shaun leading Preston over to a glass jar on the kitchen counter.

“... so I found them yesterday and the caterpillar has the coolest stripes!” he was saying. “I asked Codsworth what type of caterpillar it was, but he said he wasn't sure. I guess caterpillars looked different before the war. Can you tell me what it is, Mr. Garvey?”

“You bet!” said Preston eagerly. “I used to love catching bugs when I was your age. You remembered to punch some holes in the lid, right?”

“Oh yeah, Codsworth told me to do that. Last time I forgot and they all died.”

“You boys have fun,” Margot told them, on her way to the front door. “I'm going over to the armory to check on that Power Armor. Maybe I can do something about the paint...”

She trailed off. Shaun and Preston weren't listening; they were too busy peering into the jar and talking about bugs in a very animated fashion.

“Not to worry, mum,” Codsworth piped up. “If they ask for you, I'll tell them where you've gone! And might I say, I think it's a jolly good idea to take a look at that Power Armor while you're waiting for Knight-Captain Danse to come back. Having a project to work on will be a welcome distraction, I'm sure.”

“You never said a truer word, Codsworth,” Margot agreed.

“Mum! I'm _always_ truthful!” said Codsworth, affronted. “Why, I would never - !”

“It's just a figure of speech, Codsworth. I'll be back later, okay?”

As Codsworth continued to protest his innocence, she shut the front door behind her and walked out into the soft pink light of day. The sun was still rising, turning orange as it climbed higher and left the horizon behind, but there was an odd color in the clouds; they seemed almost purple, swollen and heavy with rain. She wondered if they would continue to gather over Sanctuary Hills, or if the wind would sweep them east toward the sea instead.

She crossed the street to the armory and shut the roughly-painted door behind her. The air in the armory was warm and bore the faint locker-room odor of sweat, damp leather and metal. The Minutemen had made extensive use of the doormats at the entrance, but trails of half-dried mud still criss-crossed the floor. It must have rained at Oberland Station, she thought, crinkling her nose. She'd have to get Codsworth to mop the floors.

The Power Armor suits had been replaced in their racks, more or less neatly; the only one which appeared to be have sustained significant damage was the shark-patterned suit which Preston had borrowed. Exposure to a blast of ant fire had blackened the breastplate and shoulders, and the paint had bubbled and crinkled in the heat. It would all have to come off and be reapplied, she concluded, sighing. Stripping the paint and re-priming the metal would be an afternoon's work on its own.

She looked around at the weapons hanging from the walls – she noted the presence of her favorite sniper rifle, the vicious .50 caliber beast she'd named _Witness Protection_ , and wondered if ought to take it with her the next time she and Danse went out.

Danse had helped her to fit the recon scope. He'd taught her almost everything she knew about modifying and maintaining the weapons and armor she'd collected on her travels. Had it not been for his patient tutelage, the room would have been an untidy shed full of battered Power Armor plating, useless frames, and weapons with crucial components either broken or missing. Instead, it was clean, organized and well-stocked with ammunition, and her Power Armor collection, once a beat-up pile of salvaged junk, was now the envy of her fellow soldiers – the boys from the Brotherhood Special Operations unit, Team X-Ray, had begged her to let them loose in the Sanctuary Hills armory so they could try out the higher-end Power Armor models. For science, of course, they'd added solemnly. They'd be sure to provide a full report to Elder Maxson on their findings. She'd told them that the only findings they'd be reporting were what her middle finger looked like. To her surprise, there had been no dark looks; instead, they'd laughed and told her that they'd understood.

“ _Law of the wasteland, huh?”_ Paladin Rex had replied.

She'd cracked her knuckles and grinned.

“ _Yep. Finders keepers, bitches.”_

“ _Ha! I like you, de Havilland. You ever think about signing up for Spec-Ops?”_

“ _Nah, Recon Squad Gladius are my boys. I'm staying put.”_

“ _Well, if you ever change your mind, Knight...”_

At that point, Danse had interrupted, saying that she was under his mentorship and that she wasn't going anywhere. Paladins Rex, Vries and DeMarco had playfully accused him of being the jealous type, and complained that he never let them take any of “the hot ones”. He'd objected strongly to their choice of words until they'd burst out laughing.

“ _Danse, you're such a square!”_ Paladin DeMarco had laughed. _“All right, hang onto her for a while. But when you're done showing the new kid around, be sure to share her with the rest of the class, all right?”_

“ _Yeah, and when you're done teaching her about Power Armor, send her my way!”_ Paladin Vries had added jokingly. _“I think mine's a little too tight around the groin!”_

“ _In your dreams, Vries,”_ Danse had said under his breath, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as they left the mess hall. _“Don't listen to them, Knight de Havilland. And if they talk to you like that again, inform me immediately. They may be Paladins, but that doesn't give them the right to show disrespectful behavior to their subordinates. They should know better than that.”_

She'd laughed at the time and told him to lighten up, but now that she thought back on it, she realized that she probably should have appreciated his intervention a little more. It had been Danse's way of showing concern for her welfare; he'd always been quick to defend Squires and new recruits from teasing, even the harmless kind. She'd been enlisted in the Brotherhood of Steel for nearly six months by then, and though she'd assured him that she was more entertained than offended by the military banter at this point, he'd still fussed over her like an overprotective older brother.

_And now here I am, standing around and worrying about him instead..._

Margot glanced over at the rack which contained Danse's T-60d suit - a stronger and more advanced version of the T-51 armor which Nate and his fellow infantrymen had worn during the Anchorage campaign. The Brotherhood's emblem had been painted proudly on the chest, and the winged sword-and-shield design which had denoted his former Paladin rank adorned each gauntlet at the wrist in flame-red paint.

She approached the suit as nervously as she'd once approached the man who'd occupied it. It belonged to her now, and yet it bore Danse's rank, his rigidly upright stance, and a few distinctive scrapes and scuffs from the missions they'd completed together. Very gingerly, she reached out and touched the breastplate.

“Hey,” she said. She felt ridiculous, talking to an empty suit of armor. The sound of her words seemed too loud in the empty room, and yet it was almost as if he was there, listening to her. “I know I said I'd never wear this armor again, Danse. It's yours, and I don't like messing with it. But I could really use a hug right now. I hope you don't mind.”

She'd left the fusion core in the back. She knew that you weren't supposed to leave your Power Armor unattended and still powered up. That was a great way to watch a wastelander walk off with it, as she'd learned the hard way – she'd once had to chase a settler all the way to Tenpines Bluff to recover her armor after the man had panicked during a Raider attack and jumped into the suit in an attempt to protect himself. But this was Danse's fusion core, and Danse's armor. Laying hands on any part of the suit had felt _wrong_.

It still did. For now, though, she was willing to set her reservations aside if it meant being closer to him in some way.

She turned the release valve on the back of the Power Armor and watched the suit open up, unfolding in a manner she never thought she'd find so inviting. Stretching out her arms and standing up straight, she stepped into the frame and felt steel, circuitry and servos embrace her like an old friend.

Even though it hadn't been worn in months, the suit still smelled like Danse - metal, paint and armor polish, with top-notes of uniform fabric, sweat and the harshness of regulation soap. Margot inhaled the scent gratefully. It was sweeter than perfume; more thrilling than taking a Vertibird ride and seeing the clouds part to reveal the _Prydwen_ in a dazzlingly blue sky. She'd never thought that anything could smell so comforting.

Surrounded by the smell of Danse and his imagined presence, she settled down into the suit, snuggling into it and letting her head rest against the metal.

“Danse,” she murmured, hugging herself a little. “Wherever you are, I hope you're safe. Come home soon, okay? I miss you.”

She looked around the room to make sure that she was alone, and then whispered, quietly:

“I... I love you.”

Tears filled her eyes. She'd said the words out loud.

“I do. I really do.”

She struggled to hold back the urge to cry, but it was like trying to hold back a river with her arms. Tears spilled up and over her lower eyelids, flowing warmly down her face. The sobs they brought with them were hot and painful; the kind that wrenched at her ribs whenever she tried to breathe.

“Oh, Danse, I love you so much...!”

*

 _Today's the day,_ was Danse's first thought when he opened his eyes. He'd gone to sleep with a big spiked ball of dread lodged somewhere near his sternum. Now he found himself... well, still terrified, but in a breathless, excited way, like the time Cutler and some of the others had dared him to jump off the top of the Citadel in his new Power Armor. He'd steeled himself for the long drop, and although every instinct had screamed at him that it was a horrible idea, he'd trusted in his armor to protect him and stepped out into the unknown anyway. He remembered the rush of adrenaline as he fell, and the shudder he'd felt when the ground had absorbed the impact, followed by the cheers from his fellow Knights. Most of all, he remembered the glow of pride and relief at having survived the drop intact.

“ _Ladies and gentlemen, the fearless Knight Danse, in his all-powerful Power Armor! A big round of applause for our hero!”_ Cutler had yelled out across the courtyard. _“He's not afraid of anything!”_

But then Paladin Krieg had bellowed _“Danse!”_ across the courtyard, and Cutler and the others had scattered, leaving Danse still frozen in place and already cringing in his boots at his commanding officer's approach. Not so fearless after all.

Unbidden, like every piece of romantic advice he'd never asked for, Piper's impassioned speech from the previous night rang out in his head:

_I know that fighting is probably all you've ever known, but let me tell you this - if there's one thing left out there that's worth fighting for, it's love._

The words had seemed inspiring at the time. But in the cold light of what was presumably day, their power over him was beginning to wane. After all, Danse thought, with a sinking heart, Margot deserved better than the faulty programming of a synthetic man. Bold, beautiful General de Havilland turned heads everywhere she went, and there was no shortage of adoring men – _real_ men – for her to choose from if she wanted someone to share her extraordinary life with. Even if she wasn't put off by the fact that he was a synth, he had nothing to offer her. He wasn't as confident as MacCready, or as excitingly mysterious as Deacon; he didn't have Hancock's inexplicable charm, or Preston's warmth and empathy, and he sure as hell wasn't handsome with all those scars. Why would she ever want something like him?

 _Rather than wondering what she wants, Danse, why don't you just ask her?_   the memory of Piper berated him again.

He wanted to sigh. Suddenly it didn't seem like such a good idea to tell Margot how he felt. There seemed to be too many ways to fall, and not even the strongest Power Armor could protect a man from having his heart broken. But if there was even the slightest chance that she felt the same way, wouldn't it be worth it to step out into the unknown? Did he dare take the plunge?

He had to try. He'd promised Piper he would. The thought of the advice column loomed. Either he told Margot how he felt, or _Publick Occurrences_ would tell the world, and she'd find out anyway.

“Damn it, Piper,” he muttered, as he got out of bed. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”

He turned his attention to the snoring dog on the couch; Dogmeat was curled up nose to tail, and making funny little noises in his sleep.

“Dogmeat,” he called. “Up and at 'em, soldier! I think we missed reveille...”

Dogmeat awoke with a bark and sprang to his feet, leaping down onto the floor.

“Good boy. Now where - ?”

A knock on the door answered his question.

“Good morning, Captain Danse,” a woman's voice called out from the other side. “I've brought you your clothes. All washed and good as new! If you're done with that water bucket, leave it outside the door and I'll get rid of it.”

“Thank you, Miss Scarlett,” he called back.

He waited until the sound of Scarlett's footsteps had faded, then opened the door by a small fraction and grabbed the pile of folded clothes outside. He slammed the door and unfolded the garments for inspection. One pair of jeans, a white undershirt, and a flannel shirt in a faded plaid pattern. They'd belonged to Nathan de Havilland, although the boots – now clean – were his. Filling the shoes of Margot's late husband had been an impossible feat in that regard. He wondered if his efforts to fill the dead man's shoes in the less literal sense were similarly doomed to failure.

_First I take the man's clothes, and now I'm about to make a move on his widow. That poor soldier is probably rolling in his grave. Cryopod. Damn it, it doesn't seem right. I feel like an imposter, trying to take his place at Margot's side. I suppose I am. After all, I'm not really human. If I was, wouldn't it make all this a hell of a lot easier?_

He dressed in haste, almost falling over as he pulled on the borrowed jeans. Dogmeat seemed to be taking care to avert his gaze, as if he understood the need for privacy; Danse smiled a little at that. The dog was more discreet than some humans he knew. There wasn't much in the way of privacy in the _Prydwen_ 's locker rooms, and the men and women of the Brotherhood weren't shy about changing in front of each other; seeing his fellow soldiers undressed had been so commonplace that he'd never given it much thought. But Margot, with her old-world sensibilities, had been quietly appalled at the idea of showering in front of other people, and she still tried to maintain as much privacy as possible when it came to changing. He'd always taken care to make himself scarce whenever she needed to shower or attend to other hygienic needs, not wanting to cause unnecessary embarrassment to his charge, and he'd encouraged – and, on one occasion, loudly ordered – Knight Rhys to follow suit.

Now that he gave the matter further consideration, Margot was probably the only person in the Brotherhood of Steel's East Coast chapter he _hadn't_ seen naked. He found himself blushing at the thought. She was probably as beautiful as she'd been in his dreams last night. They'd shared a bed again, this time in Sanctuary Hills, and his arms hadn't been wrapped around her quite as chastely as they had on the _Prydwen._ It had all been a dream, dredged up from a long-neglected part of his imagination, but the mere thought of laying hands on her in real life was enough to set rivers of fire running through his veins.

He bit his lip. He hadn't even told her that he loved her, and yet these – these _thoughts_ kept creeping back up on him when he least expected them. It didn't make any sense. Was he going crazy? He had to be. The air in the room had been fine a few minutes ago, and now it seemed much too warm to breathe.

In desperation, he made a dive for the bucket of water sitting beside the dresser. He'd used it to wash the mud from his face and hands before he went to bed; when he saw that its contents were tainted beyond use, he reached for the blue plastic dog bowl at the foot of the bed, which was still half-full of water.

Dogmeat whined in protest.

“Sorry, Dogmeat,” said Danse, tipping the water over his head. He grunted as the liquid splashed against his skin, then shuddered at the sensation of water droplets running down the back of his neck. “Ugh. Damn it. Didn't think it would be that cold...”

Dogmeat took a few steps forward and lapped up the splashed water before it could sink into the wooden floorboards.

When his face had recovered its normal color and he didn't feel about ready to pass out at the thought of Margot in a state of undress, Danse packed the dog bowl away and gathered up the few possessions he'd left lying around. He swung his rifle onto one shoulder, and his duffle bag onto the other.

“All right, let's move out,” he ordered. “We still have a few mission objectives to complete before we return to base.”

“ _Woof!”_

“Acknowledged. Come on, soldier. Let's get out of here.”

Danse picked up the bucket of dirty water and left it by the door. He walked through a dingy corridor with damp, densely-patterned green wallpaper which peeled from concrete walls, and then he found himself standing in the bar again.

“Sleep well?” Yefim asked him. He was standing by the door, leaning against the wall.

Danse nodded. For once, it was true. He'd had the sweetest dreams imaginable, and he'd woken feeling well-rested, if a little nervous. An awkward conversation about feelings awaited him in Sanctuary Hills, and the outcome was uncertain at best. What would happen if he failed to persuade Margot that he was worth loving? What would happen if he _succeeded?_

“Good to hear. Checking out?”

“Affirmative.”

“Ah, good. We need the room. Do not wake Vadim, by the way,” said the man, lowering his voice and nodding in the direction of the figure slumped across the bar. “He told many stories last night, and a lovely young lady with red hair took him up on his offer of moonshine shots. Cait, I think her name was. He's still recovering.”

Danse stared. Vadim Bobrov was lying face-down on the counter, snoring with a total lack of consideration for others.

“Are you sure he's still alive, citizen? Those noises he's making are positively unnatural.”

“Oh yes. I checked. Believe me when I say it would take a lot more to kill a man as stubborn as my brother,” said Yefim, sighing. “One day he will drink us both out of house and home. Today is not that day... I hope. But it is best to let him sleep it off. Scarlett has some coffee brewing, if you care to join us? I think Vadim will need some when he wakes.”

“Negative. Thank you. We have to get going,” said Danse curtly. While coffee sounded good, he was conscious of the fact that he and Dogmeat needed to head home, and he risked being dragged into a quagmire of drunken stories and hungover self-pity if Vadim were to be stirred by fresh coffee, the one scent which could rouse the dead from eternal slumber.

Yefim Bobrov shrugged.

“Please yourself. Safe travels, friend. And to your dog.”

Danse stepped, dazed and blinking, into the light of day. He was disappointed to see that there was no trace of pink in the sky; he'd clearly overslept. It had to be at least eight or nine o'clock.

He headed straight for the Mega Surgery Center, only to find it manned by a small child.

“Excuse me, young citizen,” he began. “I'm looking for Doctor Sun. Or Curie.”

“Doctor Sun's downstairs doing facial reconstruction,” said the child, a blond-haired boy of about eight. “Miss Curie's at the greenhouse with a special delivery. She asked me to watch the clinic while she's gone.”

“Where is the greenhouse?”

“Third Street, opposite Moe Cronin's house,” said the boy. He looked bored. “Now are you going to buy anything?”

Danse shook his head.

“I don't think it's appropriate to buy pharmaceutical supplies from someone with no medical qualifications, citizen.”

The boy made a rude noise with his lips.

“Whatever.”

Danse's mouth opened in shock. None of the Squires would have dared to address an adult in such a disrespectful fashion. He fought the instinct to give the boy a dressing-down; the boy wasn't under his command, and it was doubtful that the child would listen in any case. Wasteland children rarely seemed to respect adults or their authority.

“Good day,” he said tersely, and walked away, following the untidy streets of Diamond City around the ancient baseball diamond until he came to the signpost which read “Third”, and saw the building that the clinic's young caretaker had been talking about. He'd expected some sort of Pre-War style glasshouse, a miniature version of the commercial greenhouses he'd seen at Greentop Nursery and Graygarden; instead, it was nothing more than an interior growing space constructed from shabby corrugated iron sheets. The interior was barely visible through an open door, through which an elderly man in an old mailman's uniform was manhandling a huge box.

“Ah, _voilà!_ ” he heard a delighted cry from inside. “At last! _Merci, monsieur!_ ”

“I'd better get some caps for this!” said the man crossly. He gave the box a rough shove across the threshold and took several steps back, out into the street. “You know how many times those little bastards stung me on the way here?”

“But of course! Here are your caps _._ Thank you once again!”

Grumbling, the man pushed past Danse and Dogmeat and stalked off into the crowded street. Danse approached the greenhouse with caution. The box just inside the door appeared to be making a loud sound, somewhere between a hum and a buzz, as if it were filled to the brim with Bloatflies and Stingwings.

“Ah, but it is Monsieur Danse!” said the woman, stepping out into the street. She had dark, cropped hair and wore a pristine white lab coat which bore the Vault-Tec logo on one side. Her eyebrows lifted gently at the sight of him. “What brings you here? Is Madame with you?”

The young woman's accent was soft and musical; French, Margot had told him. He'd only ever heard it come out of the audio output device of a Miss Nanny robot, but Curie had long since shed her cold, robotic shell. She'd embraced her new, synthetic human lifestyle with great enthusiasm. Danse wished that he had been half as pleased to wake up one day to discover that he was a synth.

“Negative,” he said gruffly. “She's in Sanctuary Hills. She sent me to pick up some Stimpaks for our next mission. And some Rad-X and RadAway, if you have any in stock.”

The buzzing from the box seemed to be getting louder.

“Excuse me,” he said, giving the container a sidelong glance. “But what exactly is in that box?”

Curie clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh, the most wonderful thing! _Bees!_ I had thought them to be extinct, until a traveler from outside the Commonwealth told me of a Vault he'd found. A most peculiar experiment, even by the standards of Vault-Tec. It contained one hundred and eighty-eight residents, and over a million bees! I believe that half of the residents were allergic; the others were beekeepers. I am not sure of the outcome Vault-Tec had hoped to achieve, but I understand there were many casualties. Very sad. Happily, the bees survived to this day and so I arranged to have one of the hives brought here to Diamond City!”

Danse scowled.

“What Vault-Tec did to those people was immoral. Were they trying to accomplish anything useful, or did they just enjoy using ordinary civilians as test subjects for pointless experiments? I'm not sure which organization was worse, Vault-Tec or the Institute...”

“I have no love for Vaults, Monsieur Danse, as you know,” said Curie, with dignity. “And I certainly harbor no desire to enter one again. But bees were, until now, considered to be extinct in the Commonwealth. With this magnificent apiary, I hope to transform local agriculture by reintroducing traditional pollinating insects into the ecosystem, thereby increasing crop yields!”

“I hope it'll have better results than the reintroduction of ants,” said Danse dryly.

Curie gave him a severe look.

“But of course. Unlike the AntAgonizer, I know what I am doing! I am, after all, a scientist! And now a doctor, of course. My first ethical responsibility is to do no harm to my fellow man.”

“Margot told me as much,” said Danse.

Curie's face lit up again at the mention of Margot.

“I do hope Madame is well. You must tell her to come and visit me, and to bring little Shaun! I am very busy here in Diamond City but long to see them both. It is also a pleasure to see you, Monsieur Danse,” she said, with a little less enthusiasm. Her eyes flashed dangerously. “Although I believe that when we last saw each other, I expressed a desire to discuss the marvelous technology of the Brotherhood of Steel. Your response was to tell me that I ought to donate myself to your Scribes for study. I found your suggestion to be _most_ unkind.”

Danse flushed.

“My apologies, Curie. The dictates of my training demanded that I treat synths as the enemy. Unfortunately I should have paid more attention to my manners than my training... especially in light of, uh, recent events.”

“You should also know that what you said caused Madame great distress,” said Curie sharply. “She was _most_ upset by your words. But now that you have walked a mile in my shoes, Monsieur Danse, I must ask you – now that you are aware of your true identity, what have you learned from your experiences as a synth?”

“That I shouldn't take anything for granted,” said Danse, sighing. “Tomorrow everything I know could all be gone. And I've learned a little more about human nature... sometimes a little more than I thought I wanted to know.”

“Madame Codman is, I believe, what Madame would refer to as _Exhibit A_ ,” said Curie, with another upward twitch of her eyebrows. “A most ungracious woman! Her comments about synths are not kind and lack the human compassion I have come to see in people such as Madame. Madame de Havilland is a fine example of everything that humanity should be. Madame Codman is a fine example of everything that it should _not._ ”

“I concur,” said Danse. He rubbed the back of his neck. He wondered if he'd missed a spot, or if he really had cleaned off all the mud he'd landed in yesterday. He thought longingly of the shower in Margot's bathroom, and the lightly-scented Pre-War soap she'd found in some old ruin. It smelled better than the regulation soap they doled out on the _Prydwen –_ soft lavender, instead of harsh carbolic.

Curie hid a smile.

“Yes, I heard about your little altercation near the Wall yesterday. Mademoiselle Piper was kind enough to relate yesterday's events to me. Bravo, Monsieur Danse! You should see the headline today in _Publick Occurrences!_ I think that Madame Codman's election campaign will not be a success after the incident; I cannot say I am sorry about that. But I am glad that you were able to recover the pearls for Madame. She will be very pleased to see them again, after all these years.”

“I hope so,” said Danse, looking down at his feet.

“I have no doubt that she will,” said Curie kindly. “Well done. If you can learn to show as much kindness to others as you do to Madame, then you will be more human than you ever thought possible. But, of course, I know Madame is special to you...”

Danse tried not to groan. This was becoming an all too familiar topic.

“Yes. She is.”

“You are in love with her, Monsieur Danse?”

“Do I have to have this conversation with _everyone_ in Diamond City?” said Danse, exasperated. “For the love of Steel, yes! Yes, I'm in love with her, and before you ask, yes, I _know_ I should tell her exactly how I feel. And I intend to. Today. I hope that will be the end of the discussion, and that my response answers all your questions concisely.”

A faint pink tinge entered Curie's cheeks.

“Oh dear. Such vehemence! I am sorry, Monsieur Danse; I did not mean to offend. But I believe that she cares for you too, and that it would be a shame to overlook such an opportunity. To feel love for another is such a remarkable thing. And nothing would bring me greater joy than to see Madame happy. She has suffered such tragedy in her life. To make her smile is truly wonderful, is it not?”

“We can certainly agree on that point,” Danse admitted.

Curie smiled.

“Indeed. When Madame smiles, she is radiant. But I apologize, Monsieur Danse - you wanted medical supplies. Please accompany me to the clinic and I will provide you with whatever you need.”

“How much?”

“If these items are for the benefit of Madame while she is on a mission - free of charge. I will extend the same courtesy to you, in her honor. It is my privilege as a citizen of the Commonwealth to render assistance to our friends, the Minutemen.”

Danse couldn't quite conceal his surprise. Nothing came for free in the Commonwealth.

“That's a very generous gesture, Curie,” he said. “Are you sure you don't - ”

“No, I am quite sure!” she said firmly, waving away the bag of caps before Danse could attempt to count out some of the currency. “Now, if you please, _suivez-moi!_ I will give you what you need for your journey.”

She shut the door on the greenhouse and the roaring beehive within, and marched off in the direction of the Mega Surgery Center, humming a happy tune as she walked. Danse fell in behind her, with Dogmeat trotting alongside him.

Ten minutes later, he was walking away from the clinic with a pocket full of Stimpaks and anti-radiation medication, and Curie's cheery parting words ringing in his ears:

“ _Bon voyage,_ Monsieur Danse! Do send my best wishes to Madame, and to Shaun and Monsieur Codsworth!”

There was only one thing left to do now, thought Danse. He had to pick up the dress box from Piper's house, and then he and Dogmeat could leave.

He approached the side door of _Publick Occurrences_ and knocked; he jumped back at the sight of a pipe pistol's barrel emerging through the crack in the door.

“ _Hey! Who's there?”_ he heard Nat shout on the other side. _“You'd better not bust in here or I'll... I'll shoot!”_

“It's okay, Miss Wright,” Danse said, backing away with hands raised. “It's me. Knight-Captain Danse. Piper told me to come over to pick up the General's dress.”

“ _Nat, get away from the door! One day you'll shoot somebody's eye out with that thing! I'm starting to regret bringing it home for you in the first place,”_ he heard Piper scolding her little sister. _“Why don't you go check on the printing press and see if the ink on those copies is dry yet?”_

“ _All right, fine!”_ Nat whined. _“But if you get shot, don't come crying to me, sis!”_

“ _Wouldn't dream of it. Go on, scoot.”_

The door opened to reveal Piper. She looked tired and a little disheveled.

“Late night?” said Danse.

Piper couldn't quite stifle the yawn which came out of her mouth, but she smiled sleepily anyway.

“Yeah, sorta. Travis is quite the talker these days; it was all I could do to get away before midnight. But hey, I'm not complaining. We had a good conversation. In fact, I think our plans for a Diamond City news conglomerate are coming along nicely.”

“You're joining forces to start some sort of... media empire?” said Danse, eyebrows raising. “Really? You and Mr. Miles?”

This time Piper grinned. With a grand gesture, she spread her arms wide.

“Oh yeah! Just imagine it - Boston's best newspaper and Boston's best radio station, working together! Bringing news, views and music to people all over the Commonwealth, just like the old Galaxy News Network used to do. Sounds good, right?”

“I'm sure you'll take the Commonwealth by storm,” Danse said politely.

“You betcha,” said Piper. She winked at him. “Well, once we've both had some coffee. Poor guy's probably yawning his way through the breakfast show right about now. You look like you could use some yourself. I've got some brewing on the stove if you want a cup.”

Danse shook his head.

“No, thank you. It's about time Dogmeat and I headed home. I just wanted to pick up Margot's dress before I left.”

“Yeah, sure. Hold on a sec...”

She disappeared, and reappeared with the dress box.

“Here you go,” she said, placing it in his hands. “That dress is _beautiful_ , by the way. It was all I could do not to try it on for size. Been a long time since we had a wedding here in Diamond City. Well, one where the bride wasn't a robot, at least.”

Danse's mouth fell open.

“Someone here married a _robot_?”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Zwicky from the schoolhouse married Miss Edna,” said Piper, in an offhand manner, as if such things happened every day in Diamond City. “They have to be the happiest married couple in the city. It's so cute, seeing those two out and about together. Speaking of which, there they are now...”

She pointed them out, and Danse turned to look. A gray-haired man with a mustache and a shabby suit was walking down the street, arm in arm with the white-painted Miss Nanny robot which bobbed happily alongside him. They were chatting fondly about something he couldn't quite make out over the hubbub of the marketplace; they seemed so absorbed in their conversation, and each other, that they didn't appear to notice the crowds of people around them.

_A human and a robot? He's lucky he isn't a member of the Brotherhood of Steel, or he would have been discharged for deviant behavior. Being attracted to an inanimate object clearly warrants some sort of psychiatric evaluation. And yet... if a human and a machine can learn to live in harmony, then anything's possible. Maybe there's hope for me yet._

“Well,” he said at last, struggling to find words. The world seemed to have been thrown even further off its axis. “That's certainly... uh... different.”

“See?” Piper remarked, nodding to them. “They fell in love and nobody minded one bit. If it worked out for them, it can work out for you.”

“That's hardly a fair comparison, Piper,” Danse protested. “That citizen was clearly aware from the outset that he was marrying a robot! Margot thought I was a human being when we first met, and so did I. She says it doesn't matter if I'm a synth and that it doesn't change anything, but how can I expect her to return feelings that aren't even real? The fact that a thing like me is capable of loving her in the first place is – well, it's wrong.”

Piper shook her head.

“It's not wrong to love someone, Danse. Love is the most human emotion there is. Or have you forgotten what I told you last night?”

“No, but I - ”

“And besides, you promised to tell her,” said Piper, with a hint of accusation in her tone. She wagged a finger at him. “You aren't about to go back on a promise, now, are you? An honorable Brotherhood soldier like you?”

“Well, no, but - ”

“Sorry, I gotta run. See you later, Danse! Good luck!”

The door slammed in his face before Danse could utter a word of protest. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then gave up.

“This is all starting to take on the weight of inevitability,” he complained to Dogmeat. “Do I even have a choice in the matter? Or has all this already been decided for me?”

Dogmeat barked.

“And what's _that_ supposed to mean, soldier?”

“Hey, mister! You owe me an overnight fee for that Power Armor! I had to hire one of the guards to keep an eye on it last night!” Sheng Kawolski yelled, as Danse approached his suit of Power Armor. It was still standing in the same spot he'd left it yesterday, but it was now tied up with yellow “Caution” tape, which had apparently been scavenged from some Pre-War construction site.

Danse sighed heavily. He'd forgotten about the guard's warning from the previous day.

“All right. How much?”

“A hundred caps,” said Kawolski casually. “Plus interest.”

Danse balked.

“ _What?_ That's extortion!”

“Nah, that's business, mister,” said Kawolski, with a flippant little gesture. “Either hand it over, or the suit stays with me. Come on, don't make me impound it. You know how hard it is to get a suit of Power Armor across town with no fusion core in it?”

“Kawolski, you little shark, just give the man his armor back,” said a guard wearily, from a nearby bench. He barely glanced up from his copy of _Publick Occurrences_ ; Danse got the impression that it wasn't the first time he'd witnessed such an exchange. “Remember what Mr. Valentine said the last time you tried to shake down a wastelander for extra caps? You can't charge people for fees you never told 'em about in the first place. Well, you can, but that's a good way to end up with a bullet in the gut. Don't push your luck, kid.”

Kawolski looked about to protest, but when he saw the guard's warning expression, he gave in.

“Fine,” he said resentfully, to Danse. “You got lucky this time, mister. But next time I'm charging you for overstaying. You'd better get out of town before I change my mind!”

 _The last time one of our Squires spoke to me in that manner, Proctor Ingram spanked him so hard that he didn't sit down for a week,_ Danse wanted to snap, but he'd already found himself on the losing side of too many arguments in Diamond City, and all he could think about was the long walk home. He scowled at the boy instead, tore away the tape from his Power Armor, then slammed a fusion core into the housing at the back of the suit. There was no sound more welcome than the beeping the Power Armor made as it opened; he stepped back into the suit, grateful to find himself shielded from all that Diamond City could throw at him.

“All right, Dogmeat, fall in,” he commanded. “Let's go.”

He ascended the long flight of steps which led up to the stadium's entrance and then took the concrete stairs which led back down to street level, passing the ancient propaganda posters warning of socialist spies and walls with ears.

Standing in the foyer below were Cait and MacCready, both dressed and packed for the road. Danse hung back, not wanting to descend the last few steps and make his presence obvious; he didn't want to engage either of them in conversation after last night's exchange of insults.

“So, you headin' out?” Cait was asking, with a little smile on her face.

“Yeah, I've got business in Bunker Hill,” MacCready answered. “Trying to get a message to an old pal of mine from back home. You?”

“Goodneighbor,” replied Cait. “Hancock hooked me up with a suite in that old hotel. Beats goin' back to the Combat Zone, am I right?”

“The locals are friendlier, that's for sure,” said MacCready. He grinned. “Always good to see you, Cait. Look me up next time you're in Diamond City, okay? If I'm not in the Mayor's office, I'll be at Home Plate. Or Bobrov's place. I'll buy you a drink.”

“I'll hold you to that,” she warned him.

“Hope so,” said MacCready, his grin widening. “Now how 'bout a hug for the road?”

Cait laughed in response.

“You're a charmin' devil to be sure, MacCready... oh, all right. Just this once.”

Danse watched as the pair exchanged a brief, friendly hug.

“Now you watch your back out there,” she told the mercenary solemnly.

“Always do. See you, Cait.”

MacCready tipped his hat in a jokey little salute and they parted company, heading across the plaza in opposite directions.

Danse went down the last few steps and stood near one of the old turnstiles to watch them leave; he had no desire to follow either of them on the road. Even if one of the pair had been going his way, Cait's belligerent attitude and steady alcohol intake made for uncomfortable company, and when it came to traveling companions, MacCready was definitely not an option. Being buried alive would have been preferable to having to endure hour after hour of sly looks, petty thievery, excessive smoke breaks, infantile humor, and worst of all, those disparaging little asides about his love life... or lack thereof.

 _As if anyone could ever engage in any kind of amorous activity in Power Armor,_ thought Danse, as he glared silently at MacCready's back. _No matter what Knight Rhys says, it's just not possible. Even if you didn't crush your intended to death, you'd get written up for unauthorized use of Brotherhood equipment. More to the point, Cutler tried it and it went horribly wrong. They had to cut him out of the suit when he got stuck and the poor girl started screaming. He was lucky that little incident didn't end up in the Codex..._

A small, sad smile passed across his face at the thought of Cutler. Chris had always been the adventurous one of the pair, especially when it came to wooing women. Danse had envied him for that, in a quiet sort of way. He'd hoped to be able to win over a girl of his own one day, although he'd never been able to charm women the way his best friend had. In the dreadful days which had followed Cutler's death, however, he'd vowed never again to form any kind of emotional attachment to a fellow soldier - after all, that was why they taught the Squires not to get too fond of fellow members of the Brotherhood. People got killed out there every day in the wastes, so it was better to remain politely detached and avoid befriending them in the first place. It hurt less that way, he'd told himself. The dull ache of loneliness was preferable to the soul-searing agony of grief.

And then Margot had come along one day, with her robot butler in tow, tearing through a pack of Feral Ghouls as she and Codsworth came to his squad's assistance at Cambridge Police Station. The indomitable Pre-War housewife's arrival hadn't so much changed the game as flipped the board and demanded a rematch. The moment he'd seen her fearlessly blasting away Ferals at point-blank range with an old shotgun, snarling _“Bring it, motherfuckers!”_ and wiping enemy blood from her face, every instinct had told him that this was someone he couldn't afford to let go. At the time, however, his only thought had been that she would be a valuable asset to the Brotherhood of Steel. He'd never imagined how precious she would become to him, or how determined he would be to hang onto her for reasons of his own.

“So what do you think I should say to her, Dogmeat?” he said out loud, as he watched Cait and MacCready disappear into the distance.

“ _Woof!”_

“I don't think _woof_ would go down well,” said Danse shortly. “The last time I made a noise like that near one of my fellow soldiers, she slapped me. I wasn't even talking to her; I was telling one of the other Initiates about the time a Raider guard dog tried to bite me through my Power Armor. Paladin Krieg _still_ put me on latrine detail for a week. Cutler laughed so hard he almost burst.”

Dogmeat made a sympathetic little noise.

“No, I didn't think it was fair either. But sometimes life isn't fair. We just have to take what we're given and make it work.”

When MacCready and Cait were both out of sight, Danse decided that he could embark on his own journey home without being accused of trailing after them. He gathered up himself and his belongings, and set out into the sunlight.

The sun beat down remorselessly as they walked across the plaza, although Dogmeat seemed more comfortable in the day's heat than Danse was. He was starting to wish he'd brought a Vertibird signal grenade, so that they could have hitched a ride home. The unsettling silence of the empty city seemed to suck away all the words he was trying to assemble in his head. Even when he tried to dismiss it with the sound of the radio, he couldn't seem to concentrate on anything except the number of miles which stood between him and Margot. The urge to close the gap between them, once and for all, gripped at something in his chest. His heart, or the soul in the machine, he wasn't sure; either way, the desire to see her face again was overwhelming.

“Race you home to Margot?” he said eventually, to the dog by his side.

Dogmeat barked enthusiastically and took off, bounding away toward the riverfront. Danse grinned and started to sprint after him, his duffle bag and laser rifle both rattling against the back of his armor as he ran. No matter where he was in the Commonwealth, or how difficult it was to find the right words when he needed them most, the thought that Margot was standing on the bridge and waiting for his return was enough to make him want to run all the way home.

_And when I get there, I'll say it, Margot. I don't know how to tell you that I love you, but I'll find the words somehow. I just hope you feel the same..._

*

Margot stared blankly at the television. She'd been looking at the screen for hours, without really seeing what was on it. Beside her feet, Shaun sat cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with the collapsed wooden console of the holotape player. He'd found a screwdriver somewhere and was trying to use it as a lever to pry away one of the broken panels.

“You said there were some old holotapes and stuff in here somewhere, right, Mom?” he said.

“There should be,” she replied distantly. “If the scavengers weren't able to get to them, then they're probably still stuck beneath those panels. Watch your fingers, sweetie. And make sure you get Mr. Sturges to help you if you want to try and fix the insides.”

“I still need a vacuum tube for that,” Shaun reminded her.

“When Captain Danse comes back, ask him for a few caps and head over to Mr. Sullivan's stall in the market,” she told him. “If he has a vacuum tube in stock, then you can get one.”

“When is Mr. Danse coming back, Mom?” Shaun inquired. “I thought he was supposed to be home last night.”

Margot felt her eyes start to water again. She sniffed, and blinked.

“I'm... not sure, darling. I hope he'll be home soon.”

“Do you miss him, Mom?”

Margot looked at her son. The little synth's bright brown eyes were filled with a child's innocent curiosity; they had none of the knowing suggestion of the adults who kept asking her the same question. When Sturges had walked into the armory a few hours ago and seen her standing in Danse's armor, he'd given her a look which indicated that he knew exactly what she was doing, and why, and then he'd grinned.

“ _Miss him, huh?”_

 _Yes,_ she'd wanted to reply. _Yes, I do. So much that it makes my stomach sick. So much that my chest hurts. I can't eat, or breathe, or even concentrate on a stupid television show meant for kids. If he doesn't come home soon, I think I'm going to die..._

“Hey, Mom? Are you in there?” said Shaun. He got up, frowning, and waved his hand in front of her face. “Mom? Mom! Hellooooo...?”

Margot blinked, and smiled.

“Sorry, Shaun. I was miles away. Yes, I do miss him. I like spending time with him.”

“I do too,” remarked Shaun. “He's nice. Kind of grumpy sometimes, but still nice. Why do they call him Danse, anyway? He doesn't look like he moves that well. You know, because of his Power Armor.”

“It's his last name, honey. Not a nickname. I've never seen him dance.”

“You think he can?”

“Maybe. I'll have to ask him.”

That seemed to satisfy Shaun's curiosity, at least temporarily. He picked up the screwdriver again and returned to his tinkering.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, more thoughtfully, after some time had passed. “When I grow up, can I join the Brotherhood of Steel like you and Mr. Danse, and go on missions with you? You said the Scribes like playing around with old technology, right? I like taking things apart and making them work again. You think I could do that one day?”

Margot tried to keep the smile on her face, although she knew it was starting to disappear from her eyes. Shaun didn't know he was a synth. As far as he was aware, he was going to grow up just like a normal boy, and one day he would be able to go off on his own to see the world for himself. He often talked about joining the Minutemen, or the Brotherhood, or being a detective like Nick when he was older. He didn't know that his future was a whole lifetime's worth of childhood. She'd debated whether or not to tell him – some of her friends had urged her to be honest with her adopted son about his true nature, while others had reminded her that ignorance was sometimes bliss. She'd opted to be honest if the subject ever came up... and to hope like hell that it never did.

“The Brotherhood of Steel is, uh - very selective about its membership,” she said at last. “Most people are born into the Brotherhood. They recruit from outside their ranks too, but you have to have a sponsor in the Brotherhood who can vouch for you first. They don't take just anyone. You have to be strong, and smart, and not afraid of anything.”

“Like you, Mom?”

Quietly touched by the compliment, Margot looked down.

“Well, I try, honey. It wasn't easy, joining the Brotherhood. Most wastelanders wash out during the first two weeks of training. I know I found it hard going at times. But Danse was my sponsor and I didn't want to make him look bad by quitting on him. And on the really tough days, you know what got me through it?”

“What?”

She grinned.

“You, of course, my little sweet roll! There was no way I was going to give up on anything that would help me bring you home. I love you too much!”

She scooped him up into her arms and showered his face with kisses. Shaun laughed, and tried to struggle free.

“Mom, stop! You're embarrassing me!”

“No, I'm not! Am I, Codsworth?” said Margot, looking over at him with eyebrows raised.

“Certainly not, mum,” said the robot firmly, from the kitchen. He was preparing a casserole of some sort; she saw a cut of Radstag meat, an open box of Blamco Mac and Cheese, and chunks of the strange potato-tomato hybrid that the people of the Commonwealth had dubbed the “Tato”. “You're the very picture of a loving mother!”

“Hear that, Shaun?” she said, laughing. “Codsworth thinks I'm the best mom in the world.”

“That's because you are!” Shaun declared. He wriggled out of her grasp, but threw his arms around her waist and hugged her instead. “You're my hero, Mom. Love you lots.”

“Love you lots too.”

“Oh yeah? Well I love you more!”

“We'll see about that!” Margot said, grinning, and tickled him.

Shaun howled with laughter.

“Mom! _Argh!_ Quit it!”

“All right, all right. Go on, get going. I know you want to get back to that old holotape player.”

“Yeah, I want to see what holotapes we've got in there! And I _really_ want to make it work.”

He climbed out of her arms, rolled off the couch and crawled back to the holotape player. Margot watched him as he attempted to remove the warped, broken wood in search of the hidden treasures still stuck inside the damaged cabinet. He was certainly a determined little guy. If the Institute had given him the capability to age and grow like a normal boy, he would have made an excellent Scribe, she decided. She wondered why they hadn't. Perhaps they hadn't known how. And now that the Institute was a smoking, radioactive ruin, they would never find out. Sometimes she wondered if she'd acted too impulsively in blowing up all that advanced technology – but then she reminded herself that advanced technology was the reason that there were things like Tatos and Mutfruit instead of the fruits and vegetables she'd known in her youth, and why parts of the Commonwealth still glowed in the dark. After science had made the Great War possible, the Institute's scientists had had the opportunity to put physics and chemistry to better use and help the Commonwealth recover. Instead, they'd used their combined scientific knowledge to bring terror to the world above, kidnapping innocent people and returning them as Super Mutants, or synth copies - if they deigned to return them at all.

They'd taken her baby. They'd murdered Nate. The thought of the decades she'd spent opposite her husband, forced to face his corpse as she slept, had made her feel so numb inside that she'd thought nothing but revenge could ever make her feel alive again. But Danse and the soft light in his eyes had started to change that, little by little.

It had started out small. Little moments, brief flirtations. A smile which caught her off-guard, or a comment from her which made him blush. They'd formed the closest of friendships, and learned to walk in comfortable silence. But then, in the bunker at Listening Post Bravo, she'd seen the look on his face and his pain had instantly become hers; her only thought had been to try and mend what was broken and make him whole again. When they'd stared certain death in the face on the _Prydwen_ 's flight deck, their instinct had been to hold onto each other – an instinct which seemed to grow stronger every day.

_I guess there's one thing I can thank the Institute for. If it hadn't been for the scientists in Robotics, Danse wouldn't exist. He makes the world a better place just by being in it. Maybe I should tell him that when I see him next..._

Margot curled up on the couch and tried again to return her focus to _The Atomic Adventures of Vault Boy._

“This show is stupid,” she said at last. “I don't know how people used to watch this garbage.”

Thunder rumbled, far off in the distance. Margot looked out at the world beyond the walls. It was getting steadily darker outside, and the air was starting to take on the damp, cold smell of rain.

Shaun looked up, concerned, from the holotape player.

“Is that a rad-storm, Mom? Should we go down into the shelter until it's over?”

“No, honey. I think it's just rain. It's okay.”

“Okay.”

Margot got up and walked over to the radio. Perhaps if she turned it on, there would be some news. Maybe Danse had got one of the other Minutemen to put out a message for her on Radio Freedom, saying that he was delayed but safe. The radio set was temperamental and difficult to re-tune – she probably shouldn't have used it to beat a Feral Ghoul to death on her way out of the Super-Duper Mart from which she'd salvaged it – but if she fiddled with the dial enough and then gave the casing a whack in the right place, she'd be able to switch stations.

After some tampering and an act of mild aggression, Radio Freedom came blaring out. Upbeat violin music was followed by a few news bulletins. She listened to the latest updates, at first hopeful, but it soon became apparent that the only things going on in the Commonwealth were the usual small difficulties. Requests for assistance in clearing out nearby Raider dens, or for anyone with mechanical knowledge to try and get the generator at County Crossing working again.

Her heart slumped back into its place at the bottom of her chest. Still nothing. Was no news good news?

She switched back to Diamond City Radio.

“ _Good afternoon, folks, this is Travis “Lonely” Miles here with all the hottest tunes, and all the latest news. So how about that kerfuffle near the Wall yesterday? Any of our local listeners catch a look at that? Because your buddy Travis here saw the whole thing from our glamorous downtown headquarters, and hoo boy! I don't think anyone will be voting Codman any time soon. In case you missed out on the action, the Upper Stands candidate got into it with one of the Minutemen and they both ended up in the mud. Mrs. Codman wasn't available for comment today – well, she was, but I really can't repeat stuff like that over the air, folks. I know there are kids listening in out there. Remember, kids, stay in school! And if you get into a fight, don't mouth off to Diamond City Security when they try to break it up, or you'll end up in the cells! You don't want to be like Mrs. Codman, right, kids?”_

Margot grinned. She would have paid her weight in caps to have seen Ann Codman lose a fistfight and end up covered in mud. If only she'd been there to watch that stuck-up bitch being led away by Diamond City Security...

“ _Okay, we've got a quick weather update for you here, courtesy of our good friends over at the Science! Center. We've got some clouds rolling in from the south and southwest, bringing a chance of storms later to Sanctuary Hills, Tenpines Bluff, Sunshine Tidings, Hangman's Alley, Oberland Station, Outpost Zimonja, and of course, Diamond City. No rads today, but plenty of rain, so if you're heading out into the wastes, you might want to bring that old Pre-War umbrella with you. Even if it doesn't rain, at least you've got something to hit those pesky Mole Rats with. Right, folks? Haha, you guys know what I'm talking about! Up next, our friend and neighbor Moe Cronin is making a special guest appearance to talk to you all about reviving the Diamond City Little League championship. But first, a little music from Ella Fitzgerald and the Inkspots!_ ”

The opening bars of “Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall” sounded out from the radio. The sweet tinkling sound of piano keys was accompanied by a faint patter of raindrops on the road outside, as if the music had been intended to accompany the weather.

“That's funny,” said Shaun, giggling. “They're singing about rain on the radio and now it's raining! It's like they knew! You think Mr. Miles picked that one on purpose?”

Margot laughed dutifully.

“Maybe he did. Good choice, huh?”

He might have picked it to match her mood, she thought. The world inside her head was gloomy and gray without Danse to keep her company. Even when he was solemn and serious, he somehow managed to brighten her day. Nothing made her more aware of her own heartbeat than the sight of him... and nothing filled her day with sunshine like seeing him smile.

She let out a mournful sigh.

“Oh, Danse,” she said, under her breath. “I wish you were here...”

*

 _Now I really wish I'd brought a helmet,_ thought Danse, grimacing, as the rain fell. There had only been a few faint wisps of cloud on the horizon when he and Dogmeat crossed the bridge back over the Charles. But the light breeze had become something colder and more brisk, sending dark clouds hurtling across the heavens; now the landscape skulked beneath a dull, leaden sky, and the whole world seemed to be awash with rain.

Raindrops thundered down around him, as fat and heavy as bullets. The onslaught was enough to make him miss his old Power Armor, and the luxury of being able to don his helmet to shield himself from the elements. The X-01 suit kept out most of the rain, but water was still flattening down his hair and trickling unpleasantly down his neck, seeping into the collar and shoulders of his shirt. Without the visor to keep the rain out of his eyes, visibility was poor; he kept having to stop and wipe his face just to be able to see where he was going.

Dogmeat was whimpering softly by his side. He was soaked to the skin, fur held down flat by the weight of water. His dog armor shone with moisture, but seemed to be providing little protection from the weather; it clung damply around his middle and rain was starting to penetrate the little gaps in the metal plating. He looked up at Danse with big, doleful amber eyes, as if seeking an explanation for this indignity.

“I'm sorry for taking you out in such poor weather conditions, Dogmeat,” said Danse. He felt a little ashamed of himself for dragging the poor animal out into a torrential rainstorm. “Hope you're holding up all right back there.”

Dogmeat shivered a little, and shook out his fur, showering Danse with even more water droplets and bombarding him with the smell of wet dog.

“I probably deserved that,” said Danse. He sighed. “Come on, soldier. We're almost home.”

Thunder boomed around them like the sound of distant cannon fire as they trudged miserably and wetly uphill to Concord. The town was still abandoned; its rooftops glistened and the streets shone with rain. Danse found himself peering through the sheets of rain for signs of movement, but if there were any Raiders still lurking in the ruins, they didn't seem ready to show their faces. Raiders were bloodthirsty creatures, but they were also lazy and undisciplined; they were probably more concerned with keeping dry than keeping watch over their camp. Brotherhood soldiers took sentry duty far more seriously, and so did the Minutemen – the civilian security detail at Sanctuary Hills would be standing guard even in this kind of weather, rain dripping from their old Army helmets and pooling around their feet in the guard towers as they stood watch over the settlement which Margot and her friends called home.

He glanced in through the open doorway of Concord's ancient church. There were no fires burning, nor signs of life. He thought of ducking into the building to seek refuge from the rain, but decided against it. If he stumbled into the old church, blinded by rainwater, and failed to spot a Raider sniper lying in wait for him on the upper floor, a gunshot might be the last sound he'd ever hear. The risk wasn't worth it. He was already so close to home. All he had to do was press on and endure the rain for a little while longer.

 _Then I can hand over this box before the cardboard disintegrates in the rain,_ he thought, cradling the dress box close to his chest in an effort to protect it from the storm. He was looking forward to handing it over, not least because it prevented him from being able to reach the rifle on his back without difficulty. He was fortunate not to have encountered any hostiles on the way home.

Tired, wet, but determined to get home, they wound their way through Concord's deserted streets. At last, they reached the hill on the other side of town, and the road which led straight home. Margot was waiting for him, thought Danse, with a pang of longing. A few more minutes, and he'd be able to see her again. The thought of being greeted by her smile warmed him from the inside out; suddenly the damp and discomfort of a long walk home in the rain no longer mattered.

“All right, Dogmeat, one last push,” he announced to the dog at his side. “We can make it back in ten minutes if we run. Then we'll both be home and dry. Margot can towel you off and get you something to eat. Sound good to you?”

Dogmeat seemed to perk up at the idea. He gave a soft little _whuff_ noise which might have been a bark, then sneezed.

“All right, soldier, let's go!” Danse bellowed. “On the double!”

He charged up the hill, with Dogmeat right behind him. He started to laugh. He didn't know why; he was terrified. He'd have to look into the eyes of the most irresistibly beautiful woman the human race had ever produced and tell her that he was in love with her. She might burst out laughing, or smile kindly and say that she thought of him as a brother, or angrily ask him what the hell he was thinking, saying something like that when he knew she was still grieving for her husband. All of those things seemed more likely than the idea that she might kiss him instead, and send them both down a path they knew they could never follow.

_What the hell am I doing? This is insane. But I made a promise to Piper; I can't go back on my word now. When it comes to duty or dishonor, what choice do I have? I have to keep my word._

And if Margot told him that she could never fall in love with a synth, he decided, as he ran through the pouring rain, then he would simply apologize for his presumption, bid her goodbye, and walk into the ocean in his Power Armor, never to be seen or heard from again. It seemed to be the only honorable thing to do in the circumstances.

The Red Rocket station was a washed-out blur of red and white, with a few electric lights shining through the rain. He saw the blue Assaultron called Ada waving to him from a window; he gave her a hurried salute in response, and kept running. Dogmeat galloped beside him, tongue lolling happily from his mouth.

The bridge. Danse's heart skipped several beats at the sight of it. It was welcoming them home, leading them back to Sanctuary Hills and promising safety, shelter and comfort. He'd stood there with her and felt her throw her arms around him.

_Welcome home, Danse._

The wooden boards of the bridge shuddered as he ran across them, and the bridge itself seemed to sway a little, but he didn't care. He was home.

“Hey, Captain Danse!” one of the sentries yelled out to him, as he passed by the guard towers on the other side. “Where have you been? The General's been asking for you! She's been worried sick!”

“I'll report to her right away!” he shouted back, over his shoulder.

A couple of merchants and a pack Brahmin, huddled under the red canopy of the caravan post, stared at him as he ran up the street.

“Wonder why he's in such a hurry?” one of them remarked.

“Hey, would _you_ want to keep General de Havilland waiting?”

“Yeah, good point...”

Danse stopped and wiped the rain out of his eyes again, trying to catch his breath. Blue and yellow houses gleamed in the rain; he could see Margot's house, halfway up the street, with Dogmeat's doghouse sitting in the front yard. On the other side of the living room's empty window, he could see the glow of the television screen, and a familiar figure in profile.

“Hold up, Dogmeat,” said Danse quickly, as the dog looked expectantly at the house. Nervousness seemed to be building up in his chest; he tried to quell it with more practical concerns. “I, uh - need to stow my Power Armor away first. You know the rules. No Power Armor in the house.”

He strode away down the street, back to the empty house which now belonged to him. He felt his anxiety die down as he stepped in through the doorway, only to be replaced with a vague sense of shame. He'd just run halfway across the Commonwealth – almost certainly in record time – to get back here as soon as he could. Why was he avoiding Margot's house now?

He stepped out of his Power Armor and removed the fusion core, stowing away the armor's power source in one of the ruined kitchen cabinets. Well, that was one less thing he needed to worry about. But he knew that ditching his Power Armor had been a temporary distraction at best, and he no longer had any excuse for putting off the inevitable.

“All right. Here goes,” he said, to Dogmeat and the empty set of armor. He gathered up his belongings, took a deep breath, then picked up the dress box and ran out into the street, trying to make it back to Margot's house before the rain could soak through his clothes.

It didn't work; if anything, the rain seemed to be pelting him even harder as he rushed down the sidewalk. By the time he reached the house with blue tiles and the Paladin T-60f Power Armor standing in the carport, he was completely drenched. The flannel shirt and the white cotton undershirt beneath it were both plastered against his skin, and his jeans were soaked to the knees from the puddles he'd run through on the way.

Dogmeat barked loudly and ran to the front steps, scrabbling at the foot of the door and whining to be let in. Danse gulped, and hurried after him before Margot could open the front door. He wasn't ready for this. What was he supposed to say?

_Come on, Danse. Pull yourself together. You can do this..._

Wet, cold and trembling with nerves, he raised his hand and knocked on the door.

*

Margot's head shot up at the sound of the knock on the door.

“I'll get it, mum,” Codsworth called out, setting down the casserole dish on one of the kitchen counters.

“No, it's okay,” said Margot. She got up from the couch and walked around it, toward the entrance of the house. “I've got it.”

She opened the front door, expecting Preston, or Sturges, or one of the other settlers asking for help with some commonplace task that needed to be done. Instead, she saw Dogmeat sitting happily on the porch, and Danse standing nervously behind him, eyes lowered to the ground.

She let out a gasp at the sight of him. He looked tired, bedraggled and soaked to the skin; his hair and clothes were both wet through, as if he'd walked all the way through the rainstorm without stopping. Horror mingled with her initial relief when she noticed that there were faint purple bruises on the left side of his face, and a much uglier mark near his temple.

“Danse!” she said, dismayed. “Are you all right? What happened to you?”

He smiled sheepishly.

“Long story. Mind if I come in?”

“Of course,” said Margot straight away. “Dogmeat, you too! Come on, let's get you both out of the rain...”

She brought them both inside and closed the door behind them. Dogmeat immediately headed to his favorite spot on the living room rug, right in front of the disused fireplace, and settled down with a tired little sigh, closing his eyes.

“Hi, Mr. Danse!” said Shaun brightly. “How was Diamond City?”

“Rather more eventful than I'd anticipated,” Danse replied. He looked nervous; she wondered why. “But I think I found what I was looking for. Margot, I'm pleased to report that I was able to obtain the supplies we needed. And... uh...”

He faltered, and rubbed the back of his neck. The box he was holding under his other arm was damp and spotted with rain. When he presented it for her inspection, she noticed that it also bore a pattern of pink and white roses. She'd seen it before - a lifetime ago, in another world. She drew in her breath.

“Danse? I-is that...?"

He nodded.

“I found your wedding dress. Becky Fallon had it for sale in her store; when she found out it was yours, she asked me to return it to you.”

Margot took the box gently from his hands. The sudden rush of emotion in her chest was threatening to overpower her, but she tried to put on a brave smile.

“Let's take a look,” she said. “See if it's still as pretty as I remember...”

She set the box down on the dining table and removed the lid, then twitched aside a fold of white tissue paper. Sitting at the bottom, neatly folded, was the beautiful bridal gown she'd worn on her wedding day, over two hundred years ago. There was the veil, untouched by time, and the high-heeled white satin shoes, their little white bows still pristine.

She gave a little cry and put her hand to her mouth. She'd expected the clothes to be yellowed and faded, or rotting away from damp, mildew and fallout - not as perfectly white and clean as the day she'd received them back from the dry cleaners in Charlestown.

“Danse,” she whispered. Tears were filling her eyes. “I can't believe it. You found my dress...”

Danse suddenly looked anxious.

“I hope it's all right. It appears to be in good shape, but - ”

“My goodness!” Codsworth exclaimed, approaching the table and tilting his head to peer into the box. “Mum, your wedding dress is still in tip-top condition! After all these years! Why, it's as if no time had passed at all!”

He rotated to face Danse and said, very happily:

“Well, I must say, Knight-Captain Danse, you did a splendid job of recovering these things and getting them back home safely, even in such rotten weather! Really quite remarkable. Mum? Do you want me to find a more appropriate receptacle for these items while I put the box in the laundry room to dry out?”

“Yes, please, Codsworth,” said Margot, giving him a grateful look. “Thank you.”

Shaun got up from the floor and went to investigate as Codsworth picked up the dress and started to fold it.

“Wow, Mom, is that really your wedding dress? The one in the old photos, from when you married Dad?”

Margot nodded. She couldn't help smiling, even through the tears which trickled down her face.

“Yes, it is.”

“It's pretty. It looks like something a princess would wear – you know, in those old fairy tales,” Shaun commented. “Remember the pictures you showed me in that Cinderella book? When she married Prince Charming? It looks just like that.”

“Oh, yes. Sadly, sir and mum only purchased me after their marriage,” said Codsworth wistfully. “What a pity! I would have loved to have seen mum dressed up in all her finery, walking down the aisle... she always looked so beautiful in those old photographs. It must have been such a happy day.”

“Hey, Mom? You think you'll ever get married again?” said Shaun. He was smiling. “I think you should, so you can wear your pretty dress again! It seems kind of a shame to have something you can only wear once. Especially when it must have cost a lot of caps. Hey, maybe you and Mr. Danse could get married one day! That'd be cool, right?”

Codsworth must have seen the look of shock on Margot's face, and the way Danse had hurriedly looked down at his feet; he made a discreet coughing sound and tapped his young charge on the shoulder.

“Ahem. Master Shaun, I think it would be a jolly good idea if you were to change the subject. Perhaps something less... emotionally-charged?”

Shaun fell silent for a few seconds.

“Oh. Okay. Uh, Mr. Danse? Mom said when you came back, you could give me some caps so I can go buy a vacuum tube. I'm trying to fix Mom's old holotape player.”

“Of course,” said Danse, looking up again. He reached for the bag of caps and counted out a few into Shaun's open hand. “That should be sufficient. Come back if you need more.”

“Hey!” Margot said sharply, as Shaun thanked him and ran to the door. “Where do you think you're going, Shaun? You can't go out into the rain dressed like that! Codsworth, please can you get Shaun his coat?”

Codsworth straightened up.

“At once, mum!”

He returned with a yellow raincoat which was a size too big for Shaun, and a sun-bleached purple umbrella.

“Here you are, Master Shaun. One must always be properly dressed when one ventures out into the elements! You wouldn't want to catch a cold, after all!”

“Thanks, Codsworth,” said Shaun, pulling on the coat. He took the umbrella from Codsworth's pincers and went to the front door. “See you later, Mom! I'll be right back!”

“Take your time, sweetie. And be careful. Say hi to Mr. Sullivan for me, won't you?”

Shaun waved goodbye, and went out into the rain.

“Sorry,” said Margot, when the front door closed. “Shaun didn't mean to be so, uh... forward. I hope he didn't embarrass you.”

“Not at all,” mumbled Danse.

Margot smiled. Danse's face was the very picture of embarrassment. There was something adorable about the way he got flustered whenever emotions came into play.

“Excuse me, mum, I'm going to put these things away for you,” said Codsworth. “Thank you again, Knight-Captain Danse. You've done us a great service, sir! My mistress and I are forever in your debt.”

“You're welcome, Codsworth.”

Codsworth whisked the box and its contents away, deeper into the house. Margot glanced over her shoulder at him as he passed, then looked back at Danse.

“I think it's my turn to say thank you,” she said quietly. “I still can't believe you found it. You have no idea what this means to me, Danse. It's like – like - ”

“Like getting a little piece of your old life back,” he finished. “I think I understand. I felt the same way when you helped me. I'm glad I could do something for you in return. I mean, of course it's not on the same scale as everything you did to get me back into the Brotherhood,” he added hastily. “Being spat at by the proprietor of a glorified junk stand hardly compares to being thrown off the _Prydwen_ by a deranged cultist.”

Margot gasped.

“Myrna spat at you?”

“She took exception to the fact that I'm a synth,” said Danse. He took the duffle bag from his shoulder and placed it on the coffee table, then sat down to rummage through its contents. “And even more so to my request that she return _this_.”

He placed something small, round and gold on the coffee table. Margot's eyes grew wide.

“Are you serious? You – is that what I think it is?”

She rushed over to the table and picked it up, turning it over in her hands. She hardly dared let her heart rise up in her chest. Gold Walktronic pocket watches had been around for decades before she and Nate had been born, and they'd been a bestseller in the Commonwealth for years; it had to be somebody else's watch. It couldn't possibly be the same one Nate's great-great-grandfather had taken to the front lines of World War Two, the much-treasured family heirloom handed down through several generations of de Havilland boys.

When she flipped it open and saw the inscription “ _To our friend David de Havilland, with thanks for your service – from the boys at Fraternal Post 115, 1-17-1943”_ , she burst into tears and sat down heavily next to Danse.

“Oh my God, you found it!” she said, in between sobs. “Nate's watch... thank you, Danse. Thank you, thank you, _thank you!_ Thank you so much!”

She threw her arms around him and hugged him with all her might. Danse returned the gesture more timidly, placing a hand on her back.

“I'm sorry I wasn't able to recover your grandmother's locket too,” he said, with a regretful look. “They'd already sold it for scrap.”

Margot shook her head as she emerged from the hug.

“It's okay, Danse. To be honest, I didn't even like Grandma Fontaine. She was a horrible old bat who spent her final years threatening to write the whole family out of her will and leave everything to the Reds. If you couldn't get it back, then don't lose any sleep over it. You've already been incredible. My dress, and Nate's watch... I think this is the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me.”

She reached up to touch his face and saw him flinch as her fingertips brushed against a bruise. Frowning, she turned his cheek toward her to inspect the injury. She thought at first that perhaps it had been accidental, but then she glanced down and caught sight of more bruises. She leaned in for a closer look and saw ugly purple and grayish-brown marks dotted along his forearms; far too many to explain away as the result of a simple accident.

“Danse?” she said cautiously. “What happened to your face? And your arms?”

“Mrs. Codman,” he admitted, reddening slightly. “I'm afraid I may have gotten into a little disagreement with her while I was in Diamond City.”

Margot cracked a smile.

“Don't tell me she was wearing my wedding dress for a big political speech and you stripped her naked to get it back?”

“Good grief, no,” said Danse. His face contorted in disgust at the thought. “I think the sight would be enough to turn the populace to stone. Until now I'd never considered that it might be possible to weaponize public nudity. I'll have to suggest it to the Scribes when we get back to the _Prydwen_.”

Margot started to laugh. It was rare to hear someone as polite and respectful as Danse say anything derogatory about the Commonwealth's citizens; he was even able to bite his tongue and compliment the ingenuity shown at The Slog, the flourishing Tarberry farm populated exclusively by Ghouls. And he _hated_ Ghouls. The fact that the person he'd been rude about was her mortal enemy, Ann Codman, was the sweet, delicious frosting on a cake made out of shameful satisfaction.

“So what was the big fuss about?” she said, grinning and leaning in closer, eager to hear more. “I heard something about her on the radio. Is it true? Did you get her arrested?”

“Briefly, yes.”

“Ha!” she said gleefully. “That's it, Danse! As soon as we get you signed up with the Brotherhood again, I'm going to make Maxson promote you to Paladin. If he doesn't, I'm going to get on the _Prydwen_ tannoy system and tell everyone that he's got a thing for Raider harnesses and pirate hats. And that fashionable eyewear is now compulsory.”

“I'm sure your friend Deacon would approve of that last part,” said Danse, faintly amused. “Does he ever take off his sunglasses? And did you ever find out why he was dressed up like a Brotherhood Knight?”

“He joined the Brotherhood under an assumed name,” said Margot hurriedly. “He's always wanted to sign up, but his, uh, _family_ don't like the Brotherhood of Steel very much and he knew they would never approve. So he had to enlist in secret. They can't know, so don't tell anyone, okay? If anyone finds out who he really is, it's all over. He'll be killed for sure.”

Danse frowned.

“This is highly irregular, Paladin. But I suppose Deacon was of some assistance in helping me return to the Brotherhood of Steel. And it certainly goes some way to explaining why his behavior is so odd and secretive. His family must be a pretty strange bunch for him to go to such extreme lengths to avoid detection.”

“Oh, they really are,” said Margot, with feeling. The organization known as the Railroad was headquartered in the crypt of Boston's historic Old North Church; ancient tombs served as desks, dining tables and caches of supplies, although thankfully not as beds. Its operatives were a ragtag crew of misfits, outcasts and weirdos - the only people in the Commonwealth inclined to help out synths. _My kind of people,_ she thought. _They helped people like Curie, and H2-22, when nobody else cared. H2 was a good guy. I wonder where he is now... maybe I've met him since his facial reconstruction and never even realized it._

“Just one big dysfunctional family,” she added cheerfully, before her train of thought could run off the rails entirely. “With guns. Kind of like the Brotherhood, now that I think about it.”

“Which makes it all the more strange that they'd object to his enlistment,” said Danse. He looked perplexed. “Why would anyone think joining the Brotherhood is a bad thing? If I'd had any family, I'm sure they would have been very proud of me for deciding to sign up with the Brotherhood. There's no cause more noble than defending humanity.”

“Not everyone feels the same way you do, Danse,” Margot reminded him.

Danse's face fell.

“I, uh... I suppose not.”

Margot reached out for his hand and took it in hers. With their hands clasped together, everything was all right again. The tears on her face were already drying, and once they'd finished talking, she would tend to his bruises. They'd look after each other, the way they always did. The important thing was that he was back home, safe and sound.

“I guess it doesn't matter,” she said at last. “I'm just glad you're here. I missed you, Danse.”

“I missed you too,” he admitted, much to her surprise. “I'm sorry I was so late returning from our expedition. You should probably know that I ran all the way home to make up for lost time.”

“You know, most people usually head in the opposite direction when they know I'm around,” Margot joked. “I've lost count of how many people I've seen running away from me. But _toward_ me? Voluntarily, and without holding some kind of weapon? I think that has to be a first.”

“I suppose it's a first for me, too. I've never had anyone I wanted to run to before,” said Danse, rather shyly.

Margot felt a tinge of warmth and color in her cheeks.

“Aww, Danse. You're making me blush.”

He looked up, eyes widening.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you.”

“No, it's all right. I'm not embarrassed,” said Margot. She started to grin. “But I bet Ann Codman is! What on earth did you get into it with her about? Was she talking a bunch of crap about how everyone who isn't living in the Upper Stands needs to be exterminated for the good of Diamond City's property values?”

“Something like that,” said Danse carefully. He coughed. “And she may have been wearing something that didn't belong to her at the time. Like a certain string of pearls which belong to a certain Paladin of my acquaintance.”

Margot's eyes grew even larger.

“Get the fuck out,” she said breathlessly. “You didn't – are you serious? You found my pearls?”

Danse nodded.

“Oh, Danse,” was all Margot could think to say. She started to cry again as he brought them out and unfolded the necklace; two strands of flawless ivory-colored pearls, with a silver and rhinestone clasp shaped like a rose.

Her beautiful pearls, she thought, as he placed them in her hands. The one day she hadn't worn them had been the day the bombs fell. She'd regretted leaving the necklace behind the moment she'd left the house, but there had been no time to double back to her bedroom, and so her pearls had remained in the dresser drawer where she'd left them, untouched for centuries, until a scavenger had stolen them away. And now Danse had brought them home again, back where they belonged.

“Nate gave me these pearls the day Shaun was born,” she said, when her sobs had subsided enough to allow her to speak. “I think they mean more to me than just about anything else I've ever owned. I – oh God, I'm so sorry. I don't know why I'm crying. I haven't been this happy in years. I just don't know what to say...”

Danse reached out to brush back her hair from her face.

“You don't have to say anything,” he told her, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “But please don't cry. It wasn't my intention to make you sad. Quite the opposite. I was hoping this would make you smile.”

Well, that did it, thought Margot. If he was willing to go to extraordinary lengths to make her smile, then it was the least she could do to oblige. She gave him the warmest, sweetest smile she could muster.

“Mission accomplished,” said Danse proudly. He started to smile too. “You know, this is the first time I've ever seen a pearl necklace. I'd read about pearls, but never seen any for myself. So you're supposed to wear them around your neck? Like holotags?”

“Yeah,” said Margot. She brightened. “Here, I'll show you. It'll be good to wear these again. Hopefully they've been restrung in the past two hundred years, so they aren't about to break on me. That would be just my luck...”

She struggled with the clasp. It was stiff from years of disuse; when she took a chunk out of her fingernail and swore loudly, Danse took the necklace from her.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

Margot watched as he turned the necklace over and held it up to see how the clasp was supposed to work. She was about to pitch in and explain when she saw the thick, dark eyebrows raise at last.

“Ah. I see. Like this.”

He moved his hands and the clasp opened effortlessly. Margot gaped.

“How the hell did you do that?” she said, incredulous.

“I _am_ capable of handling delicate objects with care, you know,” said Danse, a little reproachfully. “Please don't look so surprised.”

Margot risked a smile.

“Sorry. I'm just more used to seeing you hauling around the kind of weapons which weigh more than I do. Like that Minigun we found on a dead Raider once. Remember that?”

Danse broke into a grin as he moved toward her, holding out the open necklace.

“I certainly do. _The Beast._ Remember that spiked muzzle we put on it? I've never seen Knight Rhys look so jealous of someone with a really big weapon before.”

“Pfft,” said Margot, snickering childishly as he fastened the pearls around her neck. “Rhys has _always_ been jealous of guys with colossal weapons.”

Danse looked at her for a moment, then started to laugh. They tried to meet each other's gaze, then dissolved into laughter again and collapsed against each other.

“No wonder he was so angry when Haylen asked him if he was the last one to check out that book on Freudian analysis from the _Prydwen_ lending library. Poor bastard!”

“Oh my God, that's classic Haylen. Remind me to give her a high-five the next time I see her!”

“Put it in your Pip-Boy,” Danse suggested. “You keep notes on that device, right?”

“Oh yeah!”

Margot tapped a reminder into the device on her wrist, and snorted with laughter again.

“Just wait until we get back on board. The banter is going to be _unreal_.”

She felt the cool, round shapes of the pearls press into her skin a little as she sat up, and then felt the necklace relax around her neck again, settling near the neckline of her blouse. She looked down at the pearls, then at Danse, who was gazing at her. His eyes were bright and warm; when he smiled, they brightened still further, as if they contained all the lights which had ever graced the sky.

“So how do I look?” she said, smiling back at him.

Danse breathed in.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly.

Before Margot could respond, he leaned over and kissed her swiftly on the cheek. She gave a quiet gasp and raised her hand to her face, looking at him in astonishment.

“Danse...?”

The blush in his cheeks faded suddenly, and his eyes widened with anxiety. Perhaps it had been her expression, or the way she'd said it; either way, he seemed to have mistaken her surprise for alarm.

“I – I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. It wasn't appropriate,” he said, stumbling a little over his words. He looked frightened by what he'd just done. “Please forgive me, Paladin. I should have asked first. Or not done it at all.”

Margot shook her head.

“No, Danse, it's all right, I - ”

“I should go,” Danse said quickly. He got to his feet, grabbed his things, and pushed past her as she rose from her seat.

“Danse!” cried Margot, scrambling after him and almost tripping over the coffee table. Her heart was jumping into her throat. “Danse, it's okay! Wait, please, I - ”

Danse turned back to look at her as he opened the door.

“I'm sorry, Margot,” he said. There was something desperately forlorn in his eyes. “I-if you never want to see me again, I understand. I'll leave Sanctuary Hills and ask for a transfer back to the Capital Wasteland. I'm sure Elder Maxson would be happier without me around. I think everyone would.”

“Danse!” said Margot indignantly. “Hey! Where are you going? Come back here! You don't get to just say stuff like that and then - ”

Danse stepped out into the rain and the front door closed behind him, leaving Margot standing in the hallway, shocked, with her hand still touching the spot on her cheek where he'd kissed her. The feel of his lips seemed to have been burned into her skin.

“Blimey,” said Codsworth quietly, behind her. “That was rather unexpected.”

“What the hell?” Margot burst out. She spun on her heels and turned to face Codsworth, who was hovering with a spare towel draped over his arm. “Codsworth, what just happened?”

“I think Knight-Captain Danse just kissed you, mum,” said Codsworth tactfully.

“Yeah, no shit! Why'd he leave?”

“Nerves got to him, I expect,” the robot observed. “Rather a shame. Faint heart never won fair lady, and all that. But then again, love can weaken the resolve of even the bravest man from time to time.”

“He - ” Margot began, but found the rest of the sentence hanging in the air, as if her words were as dumbfounded as she was. She tried to pick it up again and finish what she'd started. “He – he loves me? Really?”

“I think that's a categorical _yes_ , mum,” said Codsworth, bobbing his head slightly. “And if I may be so presumptuous as to say so, I think you feel the same way about him. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

She stared at Codsworth, her mouth slightly open.

“I - ”

“Surely you're not going to let him leave like that?” said Codsworth anxiously. “Oh, mum, please don't. I've seen the way you two look at each other and smile, the way – the way you and sir used to, before the bombs. Loyalty is all very well, but one simply can't grieve forever. Sir would have hated the thought of you moping around the place and being miserable for the rest of your life. There's no need, mum. Not when you can move on and be happy instead. He _does_ make you happy, doesn't he?” he added, with a touch of concern.

Margot nodded meekly.

“Well, if Knight-Captain Danse wants to spend the rest of his life making you happy, mum, then I think it would be awfully silly of you not to let him,” Codsworth said. He floated toward the front door and opened it. “Now I really think you ought to go after him, before he gets the wrong idea and decides that you aren't interested...”

Margot stared out of the door, at Sanctuary Hills and the rain splashing on the concrete outside.

 _Nate,_ she thought, with a tiny little twinge of guilt. _I'm sorry, darling. But I think this is it. Time to say goodbye. Our past is gone for good, and there's no future left for us now. I know you looked forward so much to the future, and all the possibilities it held. I want to do that again. To hold the hand of a man I love and look forward to all the wonderful things that we'll do together... the way I used to with you. Please forgive me for letting you go, my love. But Danse needs me, and I think I need him too. I hope you can be happy for us, wherever you are._

“Mum? What are you going to do?”

Margot looked at him, and then at the doorway. She made a decision.

Codsworth watched as she ran out into the rain and hurtled down the street.

“Good for you, mum,” he said quietly, closing the front door. “About time too.”

*

Danse leaned against the wall and closed his eyes in silent despair.

He'd blown it. At the last minute, he'd panicked and run away, like a coward. She'd looked startled, but was that really so surprising? He'd barely so much as hinted at the fact that he was in love with her, so a kiss would have come completely out of the blue. Of _course_ she would have been bowled over. It didn't necessarily mean that she was angry, or upset. But it was too late to go back and fix what he'd broken.

_It's me and Cutler, all over again. Except this time I'm Cutler, and there's no going back to the way things were before. We can't ignore what happened, any more than I can pretend that I'm not in love with her. She's so much more to me than my sister in Steel. And now she knows. I've ruined everything..._

“Danse!”

His heart skipped a beat, and then stopped altogether.

_Oh no._

He heard footsteps in the doorway of his ruined house, and then in the living room. He realized that he was cornered; even if he made a dash for the bedroom window, he wouldn't make it in time. He couldn't run, and he couldn't hide, but how could he face her after what he'd done? Mortified, he buried his face in his hands at the sound of her approach.

“Danse,” he heard her say quietly. “I – I think we need to talk.”

Nothing good ever began with those words, thought Danse, with a sinking heart. This was going to be awful. Worse than Elder Maxson at Listening Post Bravo. Worse than anything Paladin Krieg had ever bawled at him during boot camp. Margot was going to call him all the names under the sun, and ask him why he'd spoiled everything by trying to kiss her. She'd tell him that she _hated_ him - that she never wanted to see him again. But when he looked up fearfully from his hands and saw her standing in front of him, there was no sign of anger or disappointment in her face; only warmth, and gentle concern. Dread gave way to shame. He shouldn't have run away from her.

“I'm sorry,” he said, feeling his throat tighten. “Margot, I - ”

Margot took a few steps toward him. He tried to back away, but his back was already pressed against the far wall of the corridor; there was nowhere left to go. She came closer and put her hands on his shoulders.

“Danse, it's all right,” she said, looking up at him. “I'm not angry with you. I'm not upset, either. Just a little sad that you felt like you had to run away from me like that... look, it's okay to feel the way you feel. I'm not going to yell at you for it.”

Danse's heart had finally remembered that it needed to beat. Now it seemed to be making up for lost time. It thumped against the wall of his chest, so hard that he felt sick.

“You're not?”

She smiled, and he saw her nose wrinkle.

“Of course not. Don't be silly. When have I ever been mad with you for telling me how you feel?”

“I'm sorry,” said Danse again, feeling his cheeks flush a deeper red. “I know I shouldn't have done it. It's just that – when my life fell apart, I thought I'd lost everything. I was about ready to give up. But you helped me pick up the pieces. You told me that even if I was a synth, I could still be a person. That I still mattered, and that I deserved a place in this world.”

Now she was staring at him. In the damp gloom of the house, her beautiful brown eyes were wide. The only sound was the water which dripped from the gaps in the ceiling.

“You gave me a _name_ , Margot,” he said, breaking the silence before it could linger too long between them. “Nobody else in the world cared enough to give me a first name. The Institute didn't, and neither did the Brotherhood. But you did. And I don't know if what I'm feeling is real, or just some sort of programming error, but I've never felt this close to anyone before.”

“Danse,” said Margot. Her voice was soft. “I feel the same way. But after what just happened... I don't think we can go on like this.”

Danse's face fell. He shouldn't have expected anything else; there was no way that she could have loved something like him. And yet that last ember of hope had been brutally snuffed out, crushed underfoot. He fought the sudden urge to cry.

“I know,” he said unhappily, lowering his eyes. “There's no way you could ever - ”

Unexpectedly, Margot reached up to touch his face, gently raising his chin and cradling his cheek in the palm of her hand. He closed his eyes. The scent of her hair was bewitching, and the warmth of her hand against his face was the gentlest sensation he'd ever known.

“Danse, we can't do this any more,” she told him softly. “We can't keep pretending that we're just friends. We both know that's not true. Because I know I mean a lot more to you than that. And you... you mean a lot more to me. More than I know how to say.”

Danse's eyes opened wide, and something tensed in his chest. The space that they found themselves standing in seemed suddenly too small and much too hot. For a moment, he hardly dared to breathe. He thought for a second that he'd imagined the words, but she was still looking at him, waiting for a response.

“You mean you're – in love with me?” he said at last, hesitant and afraid. “But... no, that can't be right. It doesn't make any sense. How could you possibly love something like me? I'm not even human. I'm not real.”

“You're real to me,” Margot said, with tears glittering in her eyes. “Born or assembled, it doesn't matter. The Institute may have made you, Danse, but they made you _human_. A human being, with a human heart and soul, and one extra component that will never define who or what you are.”

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that,” said Danse. This time the emotions welling up inside him were gratitude and relief. “As long as I'm still real to somebody. I'm - I'm glad that somebody is you.”

“You're more real to me than anything else in this world,” Margot whispered. Her face was closer to his than it had ever been before; he could feel her breath against his skin, and smell the traces of perfume on her neck. “I... I love you, Danse. I know I'm not supposed to, and it probably sounds wrong, but - ”

Danse reached down to wipe away a stray tear from her cheek.

“It's not wrong to love someone,” he murmured.

 _And if it is, then I don't care,_ he added silently, as her eyes grew wider at the sound of the words he'd borrowed from Piper. _I'm going to say it anyway. I promised I would._

He leaned closer. She was the only thing in the world now. Damp air and dripping rain, duty and decorum, none of it mattered any more; the _Prydwen_ and The Castle might as well have been a million miles away, or a distant dream from a thousand years ago. Here and now was all that there was, and the look in her eyes was all that there would ever be.

“I should know,” he told her, cupping her face tenderly in his hands. “Because I love you, Margot. More than anything. And - ”

He never finished the sentence. Soft scarlet lips reached up to interrupt him and pressed gently against his mouth. Everything around them seemed to stand still; for a single perfect moment, they found themselves suspended in time.

As their lips parted again, Danse stared at her, breathless and wide-eyed, trying to drink in every detail before the moment vanished forever; his heart seemed to be racing out of control.

“I - ”

But he found himself at a loss for words. What else was there to say? Nothing seemed adequate to sum up how he felt. Instead, he grabbed Margot and kissed her again; a rougher, more urgent kiss, driven by an instinct he'd never fully understood until now, and fueled by all the fierce, loyal love he'd ever held in his heart. With an eager little noise, Margot threw her arms around his shoulders and pinned him back against the wall, pressing her body so closely against his that he could feel her heart beating through the fabric of her blouse.

This was heaven, Danse thought blissfully, as his eyes closed and he felt his mouth open beneath hers. Perhaps he'd died in battle long ago without even realizing it, and this was his reward for everything he'd endured in life. She was his Valkyrie, his gorgeous goddess of war, sweeping him up and carrying him away to an eternity of glory. She tasted of victory and all his sweetest dreams; he would have traded everything he had left for one more moment in her arms.

When they pulled away from each other at last, Danse looked at Margot in a rush of exhilaration; her eyes were large and bright, glowing with happiness. She smiled again, then leaned closer to whisper in his ear:

“I wish I could tell the whole world how much I love you.”

Danse shook his head.

“You can't,” he said. The realization hit him in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer, and now terror had him in its grip; he hadn't thought this far ahead. He hadn't been thinking straight, or at all. He'd been so consumed by the desire to kiss Margot that he'd never considered the full implications of what might happen next, but dire consequences were starting to loom large and ominous on the horizon, like the radioactive clouds which lurked permanently over the Glowing Sea.

“I know, but - ”

“Margot, if the Brotherhood finds out about this, we're finished,” he said urgently. “You and I both know there's no way they'd be prepared to tolerate this kind of fraternization. A Paladin openly conducting a love affair with a synth? Even you couldn't persuade Elder Maxson to let that one slide! You'd be thrown out of the Brotherhood in disgrace, and I'd be killed. If this gets out, then it's all over for both of us.”

She looked up, frowning, from his shoulder.

“Then what are we going to do?”

“I don't know,” Danse confessed. “Now that we've admitted to - well, these _feelings_ we have for each other, I don't want to put them aside. But after all you did to convince Elder Maxson to allow me to return to the Brotherhood, I have an obligation to re-enlist and serve with my brothers and sisters. That's not something I can just walk away from.”

“So don't,” said Margot, with something sudden and defiant shining in her eyes. “Come back to the Brotherhood, and stay with me. You can do both.”

Danse looked at her, puzzled.

“How?”

“Well, we'll just have to keep this to ourselves, won't we?” she said matter-of-factly, putting her arms around him again. “After all, we don't _have_ to tell them about us. And if we're careful, and discreet, then they never have to find out.”

“I already feel as though we're keeping far too many secrets from the Brotherhood,” said Danse, looking down uncomfortably at the arms around his waist. “First Cutler, then your friend Deacon... now this. But I suppose we don't have any other option. It's that or walk away from everything we've fought so hard for. I don't think I can bring myself to do that - not now.”

“Me neither,” Margot said, shaking her head furiously. “I'm not leaving the Brotherhood, and I'm not losing you. Remember what we said? On the _Prydwen_?”

 _Semper fidelis,_ Danse remembered suddenly, as the storm had raged around the flight deck and the fury of the Brotherhood had risen up to meet them. _No matter what happens, I won't let go._

He took both her hands in his and kissed them gently.

“Look, Margot... you'll have to bear with me,” he said awkwardly. “I've never done this before, and conducting a relationship in secret isn't going to be easy. But if you really think that we can be together and still serve the Brotherhood of Steel, the same way we always have, then I guess it's worth a shot.”

Margot raised her eyebrows.

“Think you can keep this on the down-low, Danse?”

“If it means keeping you by my side, then yes. I'll do it,” Danse promised.

“Then it's settled,” said Margot with a small, final nod. “Now come on back to the house. Codsworth's made a casserole, and if I don't keep an eye on Shaun, he's probably going to try and install that vacuum tube on his own. My house may have survived nuclear war, but I don't think it can survive an unsupervised ten-year-old.”

She took him by the arm and led him out of the house. The rain was beginning to let up, and sunlight was straining to break through the cloud cover.

“So how did Preston's mission go?” said Danse, as they walked up the street.

“Oh man,” Margot groaned. “You should see the state of my shark Power Armor after he brought it back. The armor plating is still intact, but the paint is _fucked_.”

Danse grinned. This was the sort of problem he could handle.

“Is this your way of asking me to take a look at it?”

“Well, I could probably use a hand...”

As the last raindrop fell, and the world around them began to brighten, Danse looked around to make sure that nobody was watching, then slipped his arm around Margot's waist. When she leaned into him and smiled, he breathed out.

_My word was my bond. And now our bond is Steel. I just hope we're not making a terrible mistake..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning is from Virgil's "Eclogues" - it translates to "Love conquers all things; let us, too, surrender to love."
> 
> Also, I'm on Tumblr now! Come find me at the-dubstep-strawberry.tumblr.com if you'd like to say hello!


	12. Going Down

Dawn broke over Sanctuary Hills, washing over the settlement in waves of orange and gold. Dew glistened on the ground; the crisp morning air carried with it only the low background rumbles of the town's generators and the far-off puttering of the automated defense turrets.

The only people normally around at this hour were the hollow-eyed sentries at the guard towers, awaiting the shift change. The other settlers were either trying to rouse themselves from slumber with coffee, or hurling pillows and obscenities as old Wakemaster alarm clocks rang out on dressers. But Danse and Margot had both been up for hours, packing supplies and preparing to set out on their mission. Now they stood beside the rusting play equipment in Sanctuary Hills' park, with their kit bags at their feet and their laser rifles on their backs, watching the horizon as red signal smoke soared up into the sky.

“Hope our ride gets here soon,” said Margot.

Danse just nodded. He was running his tongue thoughtfully around the inside of his mouth. He'd been doing it, without really thinking, since yesterday; he still recalled the taste of her lips and the caress of her tongue against his. The way he'd grabbed hold of her and drawn her to him again, hungry for more of the same, and the way she'd pressed him against the wall in return, kissing him as if the feel of his mouth against hers was the only thing in the world which mattered... he hadn't known how desperately he'd wanted any of it until it had happened. And now it was all he could think about.

His gaze slid over to her. She was standing in the playground's damp yellow grass, statuesque in her black officer's jumpsuit and sleek, shadow-black combat armor, with a dark military beret perched on her head. He was wearing the same uniform, and some hastily-darkened combat armor he'd borrowed from the armory; he'd opted for a metal helmet, but she'd waved away his concerns when he'd suggested that she switch out her beret for something with better damage resistance:

“ _If a Gunner wants me dead that badly, Danse, then a helmet isn't going to stop them from blowing my head clean off at three hundred yards. I'm far more concerned with trying to keep armor noise to a minimum, so they don't hear me coming in the first place. This is supposed to be a stealth mission, remember?”_

“ _And what about the sunglasses? Those aren't regulation, soldier.”_

She'd grinned.

“ _Perhaps not, but they look pretty cool. I brought you a pair too. Apart from the fact that they'll make us look awesome, we may run into high-intensity lighting conditions in there. They probably have spotlights and stuff rigged up in there to disorient intruders. Don't want to get dazzled in enemy territory...”_

He'd taken the sunglasses with rather better grace now that he knew they were intended to serve at least _some_ useful purpose, and had tried them on to humor her. Privately, he had to admit that they looked pretty good. He considered putting in a request to add them to the standard-issue Brotherhood kit; the sniper teams and Vertibird pilots would undoubtedly find them useful for reducing glare, and the members of Team X-Ray would probably relish yet another opportunity to look a little more badass than the rest of the wasteland.

Margot glanced up from the horizon.

“Vertibird inbound,” she reported.

“Acknowledged.”

The small dark spot in the far distance soon became a larger, more familiar shape; _Durendal,_ the Vertibird assigned to his former unit, Recon Squad Gladius. It roared overhead, circling over Sanctuary Hills, then touched down on a stretch of disused ground near the riverwalk.

“Good morning, Paladin!” yelled the pilot.

Danse was about to respond when it occurred to him that the man hadn't been addressing him; he'd been talking to Margot. After all, he remembered, he wasn't a Paladin any more.

He shook his head. No time for self-pity. They had work to do today, and a mission to accomplish. He grabbed the kit at his feet, hauling the pair of duffle bags aboard the Vertibird and climbing inside.

“Good morning, Tresler,” he said, to the pilot. “It's been a while.”

Lancer-Sergeant Tresler looked at him uncertainly.

“Uh, yeah. Morning, Danse.”

 _Danse,_ thought Danse. Just the last name these days. He and Lancer-Sergeant Tresler had once been on friendly terms, and the pilot had even let him take _Durendal_ out for flight practice after Danse had completed the mandatory basic flight lessons. Now he seemed ill at ease with the fact that his former team leader was on board his aircraft at all.

“Morning, Tresler,” said Margot, climbing aboard and pulling the door shut behind her.

This time the pilot brightened.

“Morning, ma'am. Where to?”

“The GNN Plaza building,” Margot ordered. “Well, within reasonable walking distance. I want to keep a little space between us and our destination. Dropping us off right outside will give our target the heads-up, and I don't want to lose the element of surprise.”

“Going after the AntAgonizer, huh?” Tresler commented. “Good for you, Paladin. Nobody disrespects the Brotherhood of Steel. Put a bullet in the bitch for me if you find her. And bring me back some ant meat - I haven't had any since I left the Capital Wasteland.”

“Roger that, Tresler. I think I'll keep some for myself. Never tried ant before.”

“It's something of an acquired taste,” Danse advised her. “I can't say I ever really acquired it. But back in the Capital Wasteland, we didn't have much opportunity to pick and choose our food sources, so we took what we could get. You're fortunate that food is relatively abundant here in the Commonwealth, de Havilland.”

“ _Paladin_ de Havilland,” Tresler corrected him. “Maybe you don't have a rank any more, Danse, but she does. Use it.”

“Hey, check the attitude, Tresler!” Margot warned the pilot. “He'll be our brother in Steel again soon, and then he'll outrank you. If you don't want to spend the next three months grounded for disrespectful behavior to a superior officer, then I suggest you smarten up. Now take us up, please.”

The pilot shot her a brief, resentful look, but nodded.

“Yes, ma'am.”

They watched as he started checking dials and flipping switches.

“All instruments are green; we are good to go,” Tresler announced. “Locking doors. Takeoff in ten seconds.”

Margot looked across at Danse; his face was already lighting up at the prospect of seeing the open sky. Nate had been rather more ambivalent about the joys of flight, although he'd taken care never to mention the fact that he got airsick to her pilot father. She wondered what her parents and sister would have made of Danse. Would they have liked him as much as they'd liked Nate?

The Vertibird took off; Margot felt her stomach lurch a little as it first rose up from the ground, and then they were soaring away into a sky colored pink and peach.

“We have liftoff,” declared Tresler.

Danse grinned.

“ _Ad victoriam.”_

 _Ad victoriam_ , Margot thought, looking fondly up at him. _I love you._

She almost reached for his hand, but stopped. They weren't supposed to hold hands in front of other people. She wasn't allowed to reach up to kiss him on the cheek, or even to whisper that she wanted to.

_If I do, it's all over. He's dead, and I'm gone. That's one risk I'm not prepared to take. I'll drink radioactive soda, play high-stakes poker with Deacon, call Maxson a bastard son of a bitch to his face, and charge headlong into battle with a laser musket that works five times out of ten. But I won't play fast and loose with the lives of my loved ones. Not for the sake of a kiss that can wait until we're alone._

Margot smiled a little at that last thought. There was something about first kisses which lingered long in the memory. She remembered her first kiss with Nate, stolen under the bleachers at their high school when they were both supposed to be in class. She'd never forget that moment, the same way she'd never forget the way Danse had told her, with wide, earnest brown eyes, that he loved her. That had been all she'd needed to hear. Fate and gravity had pulled her toward him and into that soft, light kiss. The recollection of it made her lips tingle, and her skin grow a little warmer.

“Any word on Initiate Clarke?” said Danse, after a while.

“He's gone,” she answered, before Tresler could respond. “Stood trial a few weeks ago. They were talking about executing him for dereliction of duty and aiding the enemy, but I testified on his behalf and persuaded Maxson and Kells to grant him a discharge from the Brotherhood on medical grounds. He wasn't a bad kid, but he was clearly unfit for duty; they agreed to list the official reason for discharge as psychological trauma and general failure to adapt. He's already on his way home.”

“I think that was the best possible outcome for Clarke,” Danse opined. “Most people would have had him shot for stealing Brotherhood rations and feeding them to a bunch of damn Ferals - especially after Knight Rylan was killed by those things. Clarke was fortunate to have you to speak up on his behalf. In fact, he may well owe you his life.”

“That was one hell of a _pro bono_ case,” said Margot, sighing. “If it had been regular Ghouls he'd been sneaking supplies to on compassionate grounds, I might have understood... but Ferals? They're just mindless zombies. They attack on sight and don't have any capacity for reasoning, or logic. The part of them that made them _them_ is already long gone - or if it isn't, they probably wish it was.”

Danse shook his head.

“I don't understand why he attempted to prolong their agony instead of putting them out of their misery. Maybe he thought he was doing them a kindness, but in reality he was doing them a grave disservice, making them live one more day as monsters instead of men. I hope they've been properly dealt with.”

“We sent some Knights in to take out the Ferals,” said Margot. “We didn't tell Clarke. It would only have caused him undue distress and made matters worse. But they won't be bothering anyone any more. Knight Rylan can rest easy in his grave, and the airport's secure again.”

“Well done. I don't think I could have handled the situation better myself.”

Margot glowed.

“Thank you. I'm glad I was able to resolve this peacefully. Clarke's actions were deeply misguided, but he was only a kid and he thought he was trying to help. He didn't deserve to die for that.”

“Clarke was too soft for the Brotherhood,” remarked the pilot. “Sending him home to his family was the right decision. Now he doesn't have to kill his Feral buddies or feed them our rations, and we don't have to worry about some idiot kid hesitating to fire on the enemy and getting the rest of us killed. You did the right thing convincing himself to turn himself in, Paladin.”

“Thanks, Tresler. ETA?”

“Approximately forty-five minutes.”

“Acknowledged. Thank you.”

Margot turned her face toward the window and the sun's warmth. The sun was still rising, a ball of white-gold in a sky which was gradually changing from pink to pale blue. She thought briefly of Preston, who often commented on how glad he was to see the sun come up one more time, and little Shaun, who liked to get up early to watch the sunrise.

They were passing over the on-ramp of a stretch of elevated freeway. She looked down at the old road and the rusted hulks of Pre-War trucks and automobiles which still lined it.

_So many. People must have been trying to get out of the city when the sirens went off. I wonder where they went when the EMP knocked out all the electronics and the cars rolled to a halt? I guess they all got out and started running. I wonder if any of them survived..._

Her eyes traveled along the freeway as they flew overhead. Its path was frequently interrupted by disrepair. There were holes in the concrete where the road had crumbled away, and some sections had collapsed altogether. Burned-out cars dangled precariously over the edges; some had fallen to the ground below in an explosion of twisted metal and broken glass, and one or two had become so entangled in the growth of weeds that it seemed that nature had simply absorbed the wrecks, the way it seemed to absorb all the long-abandoned works of man with the passage of the years.

A little further, and now they were flying over the old Massachusetts Turnpike Interchange. The Mass Pike had once traversed the entire state from west to east in an uninterrupted line of concrete, asphalt and steel. Margot traced the lines of the freeways and their exits, remembering the places they'd led to – Boston, Springfield, Worcester - and the way she and Nate had barreled along those roads in their beautiful black Chryslus, singing along to the radio, while Shaun burbled contentedly in his car seat in the back.

She was trying to recall which exit they used to take to visit Nate's aunt in Natick Banks when she spotted movement down on the freeway. It drew her eye to a collection of windmills, constructed from old plane propellers and generator parts. On the covered section of highway below, half-hidden by the dilapidated billboards which still advertised Corvega cars and Lone Wanderer motorbikes, she spotted primitive wooden structures, shored up by scrap metal. The camp should have been empty. When she looked closer, however, she saw that the debris from her last visit had been removed... and that there were figures in military fatigues and combat armor skulking in the shadows.

“Gunners,” she said quietly. Her fists clenched in anger. “Thought MacCready and I cleared those bastards out. Guess some of their buddies decided to pick up where they left off...”

Danse's forehead furrowed slightly.

“Tresler, I recommend adjusting our flight path to avoid this area. The Gunners are known to attack Vertibirds on sight and I'd rather not give them the opportunity. We need to stay out of range.”

“Or we could just kill them all,” said Margot impatiently. She knelt down to rummage through the kit at her feet. “I hate Gunners. Human scum who don't deserve to live. You know they sell people into slavery? Men, women, children - they don't give a damn, as long as there's caps involved. Tresler, let's get this door open! I feel like some target practice!”

“Cambridge Control, this is Lancer-Sergeant Tresler, Vertibird designation D8-77 Victor Romeo, we have a suspected Gunner encampment on the Mass Pike Interchange,” the pilot was saying, in the background. “Permission to engage?”

“ _This is Cambridge Control, permission pending. Do you have a positive ID on those Gunners?”_

“Do we have a positive ID on those Gunners, ma'am?” Tresler repeated, much louder.

“Confirmed,” Margot called back, already reaching into her duffle bag. “I have eyes on at least three of the bastards. No mistaking that getup!”

“Copy that, Paladin! Cambridge Control, Paladin de Havilland reports a positive ID on the Gunner encampment. Multiple hostiles sighted.”

“ _Roger that. You have permission to engage. Give 'em hell.”_

“Acknowledged, Cambridge Control. _Ad victoriam._ Over and out.”

Tresler flipped a switch near his right hand and called out over his shoulder:

“Paladin de Havilland, we have permission to engage! Unlocking port side door. Don't forget your safety harness, ma'am!”

Margot put on the safety harness from her kit, clipping it around her and attaching the other end of the emergency line to the metal loop on the floor. She'd almost been thrown out of _Durendal_ once, after the Vertibird had banked sharply in mid-air over Fort Strong; Danse had managed to grab her before she could tumble out of the aircraft, but it had been a close call. Since then, he'd insisted that she wear the correct safety gear if she was going to lean out of open Vertibirds and gun for targets on the ground. She hadn't argued.

She reached for the Minigun which should have been mounted on the side of the aircraft, only to find that it was unaccountably missing. It had been unscrewed from the floor and removed by hands unknown. She swore quietly, knelt down again and took out _Witness Protection_ and a box of .50 caliber bullets from her duffle bag. She unwound the thin blanket from the sniper rifle, loaded the weapon – she loved the _snap_ of the first round being chambered – and made some minor adjustments to the recon scope.

“Hey, Danse. Spot for me.”

Danse got up without hesitation, donned his own safety harness and clipped the line to the floor, then grabbed his sniper rifle. _Overwatch_ was a more elegant creature than her own rifle, which had been brutally stripped down and then modified almost beyond recognition; the only major changes Danse had made to his weapon were a scope upgrade, a slight modification to the stock, and the addition of a suppressor. She was slightly jealous of the scope, which had been rather more expertly fitted than hers, despite all the advice he'd given her as she tried to copy his work.

He hauled the Vertibird door open, knelt down beside Margot as she sat cross-legged on the floor, then scooted in front of her until he was almost sitting in her lap. She had to fight the urge to put her arms around his waist and hug him. Instead, she rested her elbows on her knees, and placed the barrel of her rifle on his left shoulder.

“Nice stable platform,” she remarked. “Good. Okay, Danse, hold still.”

He gently lifted _Overwatch_ , using the scope to zero in on the freeway.

“Need a wind call?”

“Nah, I got it. Sniper ready.”

Danse scanned the covered section of the road.

“Target, Gunner Corporal. Eleven o'clock from the ruined bus.”

Margot moved her rifle a little until she caught sight of a Gunner Corporal through her scope. He and his comrades seemed to have been alerted to their presence; he was looking around, assault rifle raised, trying to see where the Vertibird noise was coming from. She smiled grimly. At this magnification, she could even see the man's blood type tattooed on his forehead.

_Not going to help him now. He's not even going to have a forehead in thirty seconds._

“On target,” she said, steadying the sniper rifle.

“Range, eleven hundred meters.”

“Eleven hundred meters confirmed.”

“Fire when ready, Paladin.”

She took a deep breath, and felt him do the same. They'd practiced this before, maybe hundreds of times; they'd learned to breathe and move in perfect unison while spotting and sniping together. She'd always preferred sniping from the prone position, but now, with Danse so close to her that she almost couldn't bear the tension, she decided that she liked this way better after all.

“Firing,” she announced. “Brace!”

The shot rang out. She'd already steeled herself for the recoil, so the kick no longer came as a surprise; Danse had taught her how to absorb the shock and move with it, so that the rifle's stock didn't slam back into her cheek or shoulder. She saw him grimace at the sound of the gunshot next to his ear.

“Damn, she's loud,” he said. “We should really put a suppressor on her. Tango down?”

“Negative,” growled Margot. The bullet had missed; now the Gunners in her scope were scattering, running for cover and snatching up ammunition cans from the ground. She slammed her fist into the floor of the Vertibird in frustration. “Fuck!”

“Stay cool, Paladin. You've got this,” Danse ordered. “Adjust your scope. Come left three.”

Margot adjusted the scope.

“Left three clicks. Got it. All right, let's try this again. See if I can get the fucker this time...”

She replaced the rifle on Danse's shoulder.

“Sniper ready.”

“Gunner Corporal is Oscar Mike... no, wait, got him. Target, seven o'clock, behind the tire wall. Range, nine hundred seventy-five meters. _Keep her steady, Tresler!_ ”

“Acknowledged,” said the pilot, rather stiffly. “Hold on.”

“Nine hundred seventy-five meters confirmed. On target.”

“Send it.”

“Firing!”

Margot pulled the trigger. This time her aim was spot on; the Gunner's head exploded, showering the freeway with blood and brain fragments. She saw the man drop, headless, to the concrete. The Gunner Sergeant standing beside him was covered in blood, screaming with inaudible rage as he looked around for the culprit.

“Tango down,” she said, with smug satisfaction. “Take that, you son of a bitch! Danse, get me another one!”

“Target, Gunner Sergeant, one o'clock from last kill. Range - ”

“Target acquired,” she interrupted him. “Firing!”

Before the Gunner Sergeant even knew what had hit him, he was bowled over by the force of the shot. He landed on his back, already dead; blood was seeping from the gaping hole in his chest armor and staining the concrete beneath him.

“Tango down,” said Margot, with a curl of her lip. “Having fun yet, you bastards?”

Danse glanced at her.

“If I didn't know any better, Margot, I'd say you were enjoying yourself,” he said.

“The Gunners threatened MacCready after he tried to bail from their outfit,” Margot snapped, readjusting her grip on the rifle. “He told me they even threatened to put out a hit on his little boy in the Capital Wasteland. Fuck those guys. Sniper ready!”

“Target, Gunner Captain. Three o'clock from last kill. Range – oh hell, he's got a missile launcher. Take him out now!”

“Danse, focus! Range!”

“Eight hundred fifty meters!”

“Tresler, don't get too close!” Margot warned the pilot, then returned her attention to the scope. “Okay, eight hundred fifty meters confirmed. On target!”

“Fire when ready!”

“Firing!”

Blood and bone flew everywhere as the speeding bullet blew the Gunner Captain's skull wide open; the missile launcher he'd balanced on his shoulder slipped from his grasp and tumbled off the side of the freeway.

“Yeah!” she whooped. “Eat it!”

“Good kill, Paladin. Ready for another one?”

“Always ready for more,” she purred into his ear. “Sniper ready.”

She felt Danse shiver a little.

“Target, Gunner Conscript. Twelve o'clock dead, at the median.”

“Got him in my scope. Target confirmed. Ready!”

“Send it!”

“Firing!”

The force of the bullet blew off the target's arm at the shoulder. Clutching the stump of his newly-severed right arm, the Gunner Conscript toppled forward and plummeted, screaming, over the edge of the freeway. Margot winced, averting her eyes briefly, then brought her scope back up from the grisly scene on the ground.

“Tango down; kill confirmed. He's not walking away from that one. Sniper ready!”

“Target - ”

Lead rattled past their ears, tearing holes in the side of the Vertibird's armor plating. They both ducked instinctively, flattening themselves against the floor.

“Shit!” Tresler exclaimed. “You two okay back there?”

Danse and Margot raised their heads and picked themselves up off the floor. They checked their respective scopes. They both spotted the same thing – a Gunner Captain hoisting a Minigun up into the air to reload it.

“Oh, I just love it when they start firing back! Stupid bastard!” Margot snarled, scrambling to her feet and straightening up. She moved her feet slightly, adopting a more stable stance, then raised _Witness Protection_ , readying the rifle for the shot. “I'm taking him out, Danse!”

“Negative, Paladin, I have him in my sights,” said Danse. Still kneeling, he took aim, closing one eye and squinting a little into the sunshine as _Durendal_ started to turn. “I'm taking the shot. _For the Brotherhood!_ ”

Margot flinched at the sound of the gunshot; even with a suppressor attached, _Overwatch_ was almost as loud as _Witness Protection._

“Oooh,” she said, impressed nevertheless, as blood spattered against a rusted car and the Gunner Captain sagged, dropping first to his knees, then face-down onto the asphalt. “Nice shot, Danse.”

“Thank you, Paladin. Ready for another target?”

Margot dropped back into a sitting position, resting _Witness Protection_ on Danse's shoulder again.

“I'm _always_ up for more mayhem, Danse,” she said, smirking. “You should know that by now. Just a shame they took the Minigun off this 'bird, or we'd already be Gunner-free and on our merry way. Say, Tresler, what the hell happened to our Minigun? Why did they let you fly this thing out unarmed?”

“We were on sweep-and-retrieve out near the Glowing Sea last Thursday and got caught in a rad-storm,” the pilot called. “Wind must've swept some particulate matter into the workings, because it started jamming on the next run. We had to remove it and send it to Proctor Teagan for repairs. It's been in the shop for almost a week now.”

“Well, tell Teagan to hurry his ass up and reinstall it!” Margot barked. “If I'd known our Minigun was going to be out of commission, I would have asked HQ to send another Vertibird! I like taking potshots at Gunners as much as the next guy, but I expect to pick them off with a sniper rifle for kicks, not out of necessity!”

“I'll be sure to pass on your recommendations, ma'am,” said Tresler politely. “Now if - ”

Danse stiffened.

“RPG!” he yelled.

Margot followed his gaze to a trail of smoke, and a rapidly-approaching missile.

“Shit! Tresler, get us out of here!” she ordered.

“Taking evasive maneuvers!” Tresler announced.

The Vertibird banked steeply and soared higher. As the aircraft tipped to one side, Danse grabbed Margot around the waist with one arm and held onto _Overwatch_ with the other, bracing himself against the opening of the Vertibird with one elbow to stop himself falling out.

Margot saw the duffle bags starting to slide past her. She stuck out a leg to impede their progress, holding them in place.

“Tresler, for the love of God, straighten up before you tip us all out of this thing!” she shrieked, straining to keep the kit in the aircraft.

“Sorry, ma'am! Just trying to keep her in the air!”

The missile streaked past the Vertibird.

“Ha! You missed, you bastards!” Margot taunted the remaining Gunners far below, shaking a fist triumphantly as _Durendal_ leveled out again. “Why don't you come up here and get us, you - ”

An explosion rocked the sky around them, cutting Margot off mid-jeer and knocking her back into the cabin. The Vertibird gave an unpleasant shudder; she saw something metallic break off and fall past the open door. Alarms started to sound in the cockpit.

“What happened?” Margot yelled, picking herself up again. “I thought they missed us!”

“They did, but the shockwave from that missile took out part of the port-side rotor!” Tresler shouted, over the sound of instruments going haywire. “I don't know if I can keep her in the air much longer! I'm going to have to set her down!”

“Goddamn it!” Margot screamed. “Fucking Gunners!”

She took aim before Danse even had chance to direct her to the next target, and fired off a shot over his shoulder.

“Target eliminated!” Danse called out. “RPG unit is down!”

“Where's the next one?” Margot raged. “I'll kill them all!”

“Mayday, mayday, this is Lancer-Sergeant Tresler, Vertibird designation D8-77 Victor Romeo!” Tresler was yelling into his comm unit. “Requesting immediate assistance from any available Vertibird units – we're taking heavy fire from Gunners at the Mass Pike Interchange! Severe damage sustained to port-side rotor! Emergency landing imminent!”

 _Durendal_ was starting to list to one side again; over the sound of wailing alarms, Margot could hear the engine straining. Warning lights were flashing in the cockpit and the pilot was clearly struggling to maintain altitude. The expression on Tresler's face was frantic as he tried to adjust the controls.

“I can't keep her in the air! We're going down!” he cried at last. “Activating emergency beacon!”

Danse grabbed the back of the pilot's seat and hauled himself to his feet.

“Tresler, keep her steady or the engine's going to stall!” he warned.

“It's okay, I've got her! It's going to be a rough landing, but we'll be okay!” Tresler said desperately. The entire cockpit seemed to be screaming in protest around him; an alarming array of lights were flashing red and orange, like electronic fire ripping through the dashboard.

“Margot!” Danse called out. “Get back inside and brace for impact! We're going to crash!”

Margot fired off another shot, and cursed as she missed.

“Damn it, Danse! We've got a fucking Gunner sniper on the freeway! I can't duck out of the fight now! If I don't take this guy out, I - ”

The loud, echoing report of a sniper rifle sounded; this time it wasn't Margot's. More metal fell past the open door – pieces of rotor and armor plating. The Vertibird let out a terrible high-pitched whine and tipped steeply to the left. Margot screamed and lost her balance, but caught the edge of the door just in time.

“Shit!”

Danse's face whitened when he realized what had happened.

“Port-side rotor's completely gone! Tresler, we're not going to make it! We have to bail!”

“No!” insisted Tresler. “No, we can make it! If I can just - ”

The billowing cloud of black smoke was starting to deepen, growing red at its heart; flames belched from the remains of the port-side rotor housing. Margot looked up at it in horror.

“Tresler, Danse is right! We have to ditch this thing and get out of here!”

“No!” Tresler screamed, his voice almost drowned out by the howling of alarms. “I can still put her down safely! Our platoon already lost _Almace_ and _Curtana_ to enemy fire! I'm not losing _Durendal_ too! She's mine!”

“Tresler, she's not worth dying for!” Margot urged him. “Come on!”

“No! I can still save her!”

Margot looked across at Danse for acknowledgment, her face chalk-white.

Danse shook his head.

“Grab the kit. We have to go!”

Margot cursed and slung _Witness Protection_ onto her shoulder. She stooped down and grabbed her duffle bag, swinging it onto her back. Danse hastily gathered up his equipment, then stopped in his tracks. He could hear a choking, struggling sound, then the sudden cessation of another noise; the engine stalled, and died.

The Vertibird began to plummet.

“No!” Tresler bawled. He slammed his fists uselessly on the console, then let out a howl and started flipping every switch in sight, breathing hard in his panic. “No, no, no! Come on!”

“Tresler, come on, this thing is toast! You can't save her!” Margot begged him. “Please!”

“Prepare for evac!” Danse roared. “Tresler, now! Go!”

The world seemed to have ended all over again in Tresler's eyes; with a hopeless look around him at the burning engine and the Vertibird's electronic shrills of terror, he finally appeared to accept the inevitable, and nodded. He unbuckled his harness and stood up -

_Crack._

The windshield glass shattered. Margot screamed as the pilot staggered back and collapsed in his seat. Blood blossomed through the orange fabric of his jumpsuit. With a violent, gurgling moan, he tried to breathe, but the movement stopped abruptly. His eyes became dull and glassy.

“Tresler!” she shrieked, trying to grab at the limp arm hanging over the back of the seat.

“Leave him, Margot!” Danse bellowed, over the noise of the alarms. He pulled her away. “He's gone! We have to get out of here!”

Margot started to sob; cold, dry, horrified sobs. With clumsy, trembling hands, she unhooked the safety line which kept her anchored to the Vertibird's floor. It wouldn't save her now.

“Danse - ”

Danse tore off his safety harness and tossed it aside. The Vertibird was starting to spin wildly out of control, turning in ever-decreasing circles as it fell. He grabbed Margot's hand.

“Come on! We have to jump!”

Before she could protest, he leaped out through the open door and dragged her after him. When she started to scream, he pulled her close to his chest and held onto her as they fell.

“It's okay, we'll make it! Just hang on!”

The ground rushed up to meet them both; the world went black, and exploded.

*

Margot awoke, groggily, to a ringing sound in her ears. The last thing she remembered was Danse's arms wrapped around her. Warmth, and safety. Now they weren't there.

“Danse?”

She tried to rise to her feet, but fell backward, weighed down by the rifle and kit bag on her back. She shrugged them off and tried again. This time she only succeeded in rolling over, landing face-down in a clump of dead grass.

“Oh... oh, God. Danse?”

Shaking, nauseous, she rose to all fours and almost threw up in the grass. She choked back the acrid taste of bile and looked around. Her eyes were burning with smoke; it surrounded everything, rising up from the fire which was steadily consuming the wreck of the Vertibird. Through the shimmer of hot air, she could make out the words _“Pro Honore Et Gloria”_ painted on the side of a broken door.

“Danse!”

She staggered to her feet and tried to pick her way through the wreckage. The Geiger counter on her Pip-Boy started to tick as she drew closer to the blazing inferno of the cockpit's interior. Inside, she could see the outline of Lancer-Sergeant Tresler's body, still thrown back over the seat. Holotags glinted at his neck, the faint blue glow of the display almost obscured by a sea of flames. She tried to reach him, hoping to drag him from the wreckage, but the heat was too intense; she found herself coughing and stumbling back, overwhelmed by dense black smoke and the stench of scorched fabric and burning flesh.

“Danse!” she screamed. “Danse - oh, God, where are you?”

“Margot...?”

A familiar figure emerged, coughing, from the clouds of smoke. His face was streaked with ash; blood streamed from a small, thin cut near his hairline. He looked dizzy, almost as disoriented as she was, but otherwise unhurt. _Overwatch_ was still resting in the crook of his arm.

Tears of relief poured down Margot's cheeks. She rushed to him and threw her arms around his shoulders and back, hugging him with all her might.

“Oh, thank God! Are you all right?”

“Yeah... I... yes. I'm fine. Are you injured?”

She shook her head.

“No, I'm okay. Thanks to you. Another second later and we would have been – Tresler – oh God, he's dead!”

Danse lowered his head.

“Sniper got him. Death was instantaneous. There was nothing you could have done.”

They both turned to face the burning Vertibird, and saluted the corpse.

“ _Ad victoriam,_ brother,” said Margot softly.

“ _Ad victoriam._ He was a brave soldier, and he did his duty to the end.”

Something seized Margot's heart; guilt, and sorrow.

“Danse, his holotags – I'm sorry, I couldn't grab them. The flames... I tried to get him out of there, but I couldn't even get close.”

“Don't injure yourself trying to get to him,” he told her. “Tresler activated the emergency beacon before _Durendal_ went down. Our brothers and sisters will find him and bring him home. They know what to do.”

She looked at him with fresh urgency in her eyes.

“What about us? They'll want to know if we survived the crash.”

“Don't you remember your training, Paladin?” he chided her gently. “We leave a marker, remember? Just like I taught you.”

Margot nodded slowly.

“Yes. I remember. Sorry, I'm a little – still kind of dazed.”

Danse frowned.

“But you're all right?”

“Yeah. I think I blacked out for a moment or two, but I'll be fine. Well, mostly. Fucking Gunners!”

“I picked off the last one,” said Danse. He shot a scornful look up at the disintegrating concrete remains of the Mass Pike Interchange. “He's shot down his last Vertibird. Hope he's got some good stories to tell his friends in Hell, because I just sent him on his way.”

“We should never have engaged those damn mercs,” said Margot, closing her eyes.

“I'm sure the local caravans will be grateful that we did,” Danse assured her. “They can travel in safety again now that the camp's been cleared for good. We'll have to establish some sort of local presence here to deter the Gunners from trying to assume control of this location again.”

“Yeah,” said Margot weakly. “Good idea. Maybe I can ask Preston about it when we get home.”

She knelt down next to a large, flat piece of debris and pulled out a piece of chalk from a uniform pocket.

“You remember what to do?” said Danse, leaning over her to watch.

She nodded.

“I remember.”

Shock had left her fingers almost numb, but she gripped the stub of chalk and drew three tally marks on the debris. Three crewmembers aboard. It took her a moment to recall Tresler's registration number, but the information surfaced again before Danse could prompt her.

 _TR-309LS,_ she wrote unsteadily. _KIA._

Beneath it, she traced her own registration number, _HV-111P_ , then the abbreviations _A/CM._ Active, Continuing Mission, so the search-and-rescue team wouldn't look in vain for her; she'd be expected to report in and confirm her status at the earliest opportunity, but they'd know that she was alive and had safely vacated the crash site.

She paused, unsure how to record Danse's survival. Would they allow him to use his old registration number, updated for rank, or allocate him a new one?

“I imagine they'd reinstate the old number,” Danse said, as if he'd read her mind. “Although I'll admit that I'm not entirely sure. When people are expelled from the Brotherhood, they don't normally come back. In fact, I don't think they ever come back.”

“First time for everything,” she said, with a feeble attempt at a chuckle. “They really broke the mold when they made you, Danse.”

Danse pulled a face.

“Did they use a mold?”

“As a matter of fact, they did,” she said, as she scrawled the registration _DN-407P_ on the metal surface, before scrubbing out the last letter with the edge of her glove and correcting it to read _DN-407KC._ “But the Institute must have decided that you were too handsome to replicate. All those attractive copies of you around, distracting the scientists... the Institute might have turned into some sort of non-stop synth orgy palace. Which, now that I think about it, would have been a much better use of the premises.”

“I wonder what your son would have had to say about that,” Danse quipped, as she added _A/CM_ to the end of the line.

Margot's fingers tightened on the last stroke of the M. The chalk snapped in half, and rolled into the grass.

“He wasn't my son,” she said tersely. “My Shaun was a tiny baby who liked having his feet tickled. Not an old, dying man who decided to spend his last few weeks of life trying to mess with my head so he could manipulate me into doing his bidding. Do you know what he did to me? He had little synth Shaun set up in an observation room, just to see how I'd react when I first teleported into the Institute and saw him standing there! Then when his programming went haywire and he didn't understand that I was supposed to be his mom, he started yelling for Father. That was what everyone in the Institute called my Shaun. _Father._ Hearing something that looked like my son yelling for his father... God, Danse...”

Danse stooped down beside her and patted her on the shoulder.

“It's okay, soldier.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It's not. It'll never be okay.”

“I know,” Danse murmured. This time he put an arm across her shoulders and drew her into him in an awkward half-hug. “I'm sorry. At least you still have little Shaun. I know he won't ever truly replace the son you lost, but - ”

“No, he's his own little person,” said Margot, sniffling. “It's not fair to expect him to replace a tiny baby and be exactly the same as the kid I imagined he'd grow up to be. Nobody could live up to those kinds of expectations. I just try to think of him as a little synth boy who needed a mother.”

“He still needs his mother,” Danse reminded her. “So let's get this mission over with and get you home to him.”

Eyes swimming, she nodded, and let him help her to her feet.

“Okay.”

“All right, Paladin. Grab your gear and let's hit the road.”

Margot ran back to grab her sniper rifle and duffle bag.

“Ready?” said Danse. He was waiting for her; wreathed in smoke, with rumpled hair and his face covered in ash and blood, he looked as if he'd just survived the immediate aftermath of a whole new apocalypse. He'd never looked so attractive, she thought, feeling her mouth turn up at the corners.

“Ready,” she announced. “Come on, let's get the hell out of here.”

“Roger that, soldier. We're about halfway to our destination and weather conditions are good. If we keep up a good pace, we can make it to the GNN Plaza before nightfall.”

Margot cracked her knuckles.

“Good. We'll get the drop on her in the dark. Parents, you might want to send your kids to bed early tonight... there's about to be a hell of a lot more violence on television.”

“I sincerely hope there won't be children watching us beat the hell out of the AntAgonizer,” said Danse. He looked appalled at the thought. “Children witness enough violence in the wasteland as it is.”

“Well, then, let's set the Squires a good example and show them what we do to bad guys who threaten the Brotherhood,” said Margot. She smiled. “Think of it as a propaganda exercise. _The dastardly AntAgonizer threatens the lives and safety of our courageous brothers and sisters in Steel, but the supervillain is no match for Paladin de Havilland and her brave sidekick, Knight-Captain Danse!”_

Danse made a face as they walked away from the crash site.

“Sidekick? What do I look like, Jangles the Moon Monkey?”

“More like Captain Cosmos, with that hood you used to wear,” Margot teased him.

“Extended periods of Power Armor helmet use can cause skin irritation and chafing to the head and neck,” Danse informed her, frowning. “The extra layer of fabric provides a great deal of useful protection against those kinds of injuries. If you'd ever been on a two-day march in full Power Armor without anything to stop your helmet rubbing against the back of your head, then you'd quickly see the need for additional head protection.”

“All right, I'm only kidding!” said Margot, laughing. “You know I persuaded Nate to go as Captain Cosmos for Hallowe'en? We were going to dress Shaun up like Jangles the Moon Monkey. Shame the bombs hit first. His cute little outfit was almost finished...”

Danse looked thoughtful.

“I remember you telling me about that holiday. People dressing up in costumes and collecting candy from their neighbors at night. So who were you going to be?”

“Me? I was going to be Captain Cosmos' second-in-command, Stella Skyfire,” said Margot, with a little sigh. “I'm not sure if I would have been able to pull it off, though. That jumpsuit was pretty tight around the butt.”

Danse shook his head.

“If she was the woman in the episode I watched with you, then no, I don't think there was much of a likeness. You're far more attractive than that Pre-War actress.”

Margot blushed.

“Oh, you. Maybe this year I should go as the Silver Shroud.”

“I hope you don't expect me to be the Mistress of Mystery,” said Danse severely.

“No, no. I think you'd make a good Grognak, though.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But I already have the costume!” Margot complained.

“I'm not even going to ask where you found it,” Danse said shortly. “The answer is still no.”

“Ugh. Spoilsport...”

They walked on down the road, with black smoke climbing into the air behind them. The wind picked up again, carrying away the sound of playful bickering as if it were of no consequence. After a while, the sound it blew away was that of two voices laughing in unison.

*

It had been a long day of walking, their progress slowed considerably by encounters with hostile wildlife on the road. They'd planned to get to the GNN Plaza well before noon to reconnoiter the building and surrounding area, before heading in at dusk to carry out their mission, but an unexpected bank of fog and the need to rest had forced them to stop and make camp early.

Hugging her knees as she sat beside the fire, Margot looked up at the night sky through a break in the clouds. The infinite blackness of space, dotted with tiny twinkling stars, had always filled her with awe as a child. In her darkest days after leaving the Vault, there had been only terror in those pitiless stars, and futility in the void between them. But the way Danse turned his face up to the heavens and let starlight fill his eyes with wonder was enough to make her believe that perhaps there really was some sort of kind, guiding presence watching over humanity from above, and that she'd been so blinded by grief and fury that she'd simply lost sight of it. If that was true, then she hoped that the forces which truly drove the universe saw fit to keep Danse by her side. When he was around, the stars shone down more kindly on Planet Earth.

 _One day, Danse,_ Margot thought, looking across the campfire at him. _One day, humanity will recover from all of this and we'll be able to reach out toward the stars again. If human beings manage to make it back into outer space, I hope you get to go up there and see all the wonders of the universe for yourself. If I'm long gone by then, plant a Brotherhood of Steel flag on the moon's surface for me and remember how much I loved you._

He was curled up on a bedroll on the other side of the campfire; the stars shone gently over him as he slept. He'd already taken first watch and allowed her a few hours to sleep before their final approach to the GNN Plaza, and now it was his turn to rest.

“ _Did you know you talk in your sleep?”_ he'd asked her, with a placid expression, as she'd emerged from slumber and seen him sitting by the campfire, warming his hands.

“ _Well, you snore,”_ she'd retorted.

He'd frowned a little at that.

“ _No, I don't.”_

“ _Yes, you do. I've seen you asleep and you definitely snore.”_

“ _Clearly something was obstructing my breathing on that occasion. I don't snore.”_

“ _If you say so, Danse. My turn to keep watch. Get some rest, soldier.”_

He'd nodded, and gone to lie down. Right before he'd rolled over to go to sleep, however, he'd murmured, a little shyly:

“ _I love you.”_

She couldn't have stopped herself from smiling even if she'd wanted to.

“ _I love you too. Thank you for saving my sorry ass from the Vertibird before it went down.”_

“ _Of course.”_

“ _Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”_

He'd looked startled by the term of endearment, so much so that she'd been about to apologize for her over-familiarity. But then he'd smiled.

“ _Sweetheart. I like that. I, uh – you're my sweetheart too.”_

Margot hadn't been sure if “sweetheart” was the kind of term which suited a gruff, serious military man like Danse. But the minute she'd seen the happy glow which had crept across his face, she'd realized that the word had fit him perfectly. What other way was there to describe a man who brought her flowers, braved all kinds of perils to bring home lost personal effects, and blushed deeply at even the smallest sign of her affection?

_Danse. My sweetheart._

As he slept – snoring lightly, Margot noted, with a touch of amusement - she gazed into the fire, watching the flames leap up from a heap of dead branches and disintegrating pages of the _Boston Bugle_. Sparks flew; smoke spiraled. She thought of the Vertibird, tumbling from the sky, and Danse's arms wrapped around her as they jumped clear of the wreckage at the last moment.

She was an idiot. She should never have taken on a camp full of Gunners when the Vertibird hadn't been properly equipped to handle an aerial assault. Danse had known better, and he'd expressed the fact that it would be better to avoid engaging the enemy. But as usual, she'd been too angry to listen, too proud to call off the attack, and too confident in her prowess with a sniper rifle to envision any outcome other than total victory; this time, her arrogance had cost Tresler his life.

Margot reminded herself that they'd sought permission to engage the Gunners, and it had been granted. As if that excused her poor judgment. But Danse had stood by every order he'd ever given, even the ones he privately regretted, and so would she. At least there were fewer Gunners in the world tonight. It was cold comfort, but it was better than nothing. She drew closer to the crackling fire, hoping the heat which radiated from the flames would make her feel a little less numb.

She looked down at her Pip-Boy's screen. It was covered in little flecks of dust and ash. She wiped the display clean and turned the dial, flipping through the readouts. An overview of her vital signs – all was well, even after her tumble from the Vertibird, and nobody was more surprised about that than her. Her inventory, with the items in her possession tracked in real-time, right down to how much ammunition she had left. She'd never know how it _knew_. Next was the Data tab, which listed the mission objectives she'd programmed into the system:

_Go to GNN Plaza. Locate the source of the AntAgonizer's transmission. Search for clues as to the AntAgonizer's whereabouts. Find the AntAgonizer and confront her – OR – Kill the AntAgonizer._

It sounded simple enough, Margot thought. It rarely was. There would be Gunners, and fire-breathing ants, and possibly even some Paragons of Steel, just to throw a real wrench into the works. Her missions were rarely straightforward, and yet she usually came out on top, in spite of all the complications which the Commonwealth seemed to enjoy throwing at her. Her ability to adapt and survive in any circumstances was the reason she'd earned the rank of Paladin so quickly... that, and the fact that she'd agreed to keep the secret of Danse's continued existence to avoid embarrassing Elder Maxson with her insubordination. That part hadn't quite worked out as planned, although she had to admit that it had, at least, worked out.

The next display was a map of the Commonwealth, with little markers showing the locations of nearby landmarks. They were still a good distance away from the GNN Plaza; they'd kept their camp safely out of the line of sight, not wanting to attract attention with smoke or light from the fire. Below the map was the time. Another half-hour, she decided, and she'd wake Danse. The fog was finally beginning to clear, and they would be able to make some more progress at last.

The last tab showed the list of available radio transmissions. Diamond City Radio topped the list – the classical music station she'd once enjoyed listening to was gone, blown up along with the Institute – but there were other signals as well. Radio Freedom, which now spread word of the Minutemen's daily activities across the Commonwealth. Automated Pre-War distress calls she'd answered in vain. She thought about trying to tune into WRVR, the small three-man radio station which broadcast radio plays – it was based nearby and run by Rex Goodman, the Shakespeare-loving actor who'd convinced her Super Mutant buddy Strong to seek out the “milk of human kindness” by reading him Macbeth. But it was late, and the sound of dramatic readings would only wake Danse unnecessarily from his sleep.

Margot heard him mutter something and glanced up from her Pip-Boy, wondering if he was about to wake up. Whatever was in his dreams seemed to be troubling him; he was frowning deeply, and seemed restless.

_I wonder what he's dreaming about..._

*

He was in Cambridge, out on patrol near their base. It was one of those sullen, gray, overcast days which made idle threats of rain until nightfall. Haylen, Rhys and the others were still inside, but he was out in the open air, holding _Righteous Authority_ and striding along in his Power Armor. It was his turn to check the immediate vicinity for threats like Raiders and Super Mutants and ensure that the area remained secure.

Movement near the corner of his eye drew his attention. A flash of something small, sudden and dark; when he turned around to look, he saw nothing, but felt a sharp, searing pain in his neck. Confused, he raised his hand to his throat, only to find his breath drawing short and the world in front of his eyes blurring, swimming, falling, turning black -

He awoke to an impossibly bright light. White, everywhere, everything. Murmurs in the background, and soft electronic sounds. Panicking, he tried to move, but found himself immobile, pinned down. He tried to yell, but couldn't; no sound came out of his mouth.

A face loomed over him. A woman's face; a shock of pale gray-blonde hair, a cruel, thin mouth, and green eyes which stared down venomously into his.

“ _His name is Danse,_ ” someone was telling her, peering over her shoulder. A small, weedy-looking man with blond hair and glasses. He was holding a clipboard. _“Paladin Danse. He belongs to the Brotherhood of Steel.”_

The woman smiled a cold, sinister smile.

“ _No. He belongs to me.”_

*

Danse awoke with a yelp at the light touch on his shoulder.

“Hey, Danse. Zero dark thirty. It's go time.”

He blinked. There was a face looking down at him. The hair was dark and gently curled, the eyes were a deep brown, and the smile on the woman's lips was warm and affectionate. Margot. His sweetheart, he remembered, as warmth rushed to his heart.

_I belong to her. Not that odd woman in my dream. Whoever she was, she can go and – and lay claim to somebody else. She can't have me._

“You all right?”

He nodded.

“Affirmative. Just bad dreams.”

The shadows of the nightmare disappeared at the touch of the kiss on his forehead.

“It's all right. They're not real,” Margot told him. She smiled suddenly. “Not like you. Come on, soldier, up you get. We are Oscar Mike.”

Danse sat up, rubbing his eyes. The world was shrouded in darkness, with only the warm orange flicker of the fire to interrupt the gloom.

“What time is it really?”

“Two forty-five. Time to ruck up.”

Dark when he went to sleep, and dark when he got up. Just another day in the military, Danse reflected, as he got up to help Margot decamp. He packed up the bedroll and their kit. A hiss behind him was the sound of Margot dousing the fire; steam seethed from the embers and blackened debris.

“Got everything?” she asked him.

“Affirmative.”

“Good. Let's move out.”

They left the site and marched out down the road, heading east. Danse looked around him as they walked.

“Strange how the Commonwealth changes so much at night, isn't it?” he marveled.

“Yeah, I know,” Margot agreed. “I've been down these roads so many times and I still barely recognize this area in the dark. It was the same way even before the bombs. Darkness has a weird way of getting you turned around in familiar places.”

“Do you have a fix on our current location?”

Margot checked her Pip-Boy map.

“Sure. We're coming up on the Robotics Pioneer Park.”

“The park, huh? I think we flew over it once. It must have been a pleasant place to spend the day before the Great War.”

In the dark, Margot smiled to herself. He had no idea. Nate had taken her here for a romantic picnic one night, hundreds of years ago. They'd ended up rolling in the grass, tearing at each other's clothes in the frantic pursuit of passion – and then running back to their car, pursued by a monotonic, but presumably irate, Protectron unit. She'd lost one of her shoes in the excitement. It was probably still at the bottom of the pond. They'd never dared to go back for the picnic basket.

“You seem amused. What's on your mind?”

Margot felt a blush creep into her cheeks. She'd hoped her expression would have been hidden from him in the dark.

_Damn. I knew I should have turned off the light on my Pip-Boy before we decamped. So much for stealth._

“So, uh, funny story,” she mumbled, as they passed the abandoned park and headed east, toward the bridge which crossed the river. “Nate took me here one night, before the war. It was supposed to be a romantic picnic.”

“What happened?”

“Um - rather more than a picnic. We had Shaun nine months later.”

Danse looked aghast.

“You had... intimate relations? In public? I'm astounded that a member of the Pre-War military and someone who practiced law for a living would engage in that kind of irresponsible behavior. Weren't either of you concerned about being caught by law enforcement?”

“We had to make a run for it when the security Protectron found us,” Margot admitted. “I thought we were going to get pulled over and arrested for lewd conduct on the drive home. I was petrified. Nate just thought it was funny. Looking back, I guess it kind of was. The way that stupid robot kept repeating _“Stop, deviants”_ , over and over, in the same tone you'd read the phone book.”

Danse scowled.

“I know that most of us have had a few youthful indiscretions, Paladin, but that kind of behavior is positively indecent. I hope you don't intend to repeat it in future.”

Margot let out a short laugh.

“In the apocalypse? Oh hell, no. I thought the park was scary at night even before the war. The last thing I want is to get caught _in flagrante delicto_ by a Deathclaw. Or the kind of scavver who'd ask to join in.”

She saw Danse shudder.

“I can't believe your spouse would knowingly drag you into that kind of situation. What on earth was he thinking, placing you in jeopardy like that?”

“In fairness to my better half, it was more of a spontaneous thing. We didn't exactly plan it.”

Danse shook his head.

“I still can't imagine why on earth you'd agree to such a thing. Your late husband must have been very persuasive.”

“You have no idea,” said Margot, with feeling. “My Nate could have talked the Statue of Liberty into doing a striptease.”

She caught his eye and grinned.

“So, Danse, let's hear about these youthful indiscretions of yours. What kind of shameful, sexy misadventures have you had in the Brotherhood of Steel, hmm?”

Even in the dark of night, it wasn't difficult to tell when Danse was embarrassed. She saw him rub the back of his neck.

“None to speak of, I'm afraid.”

“Oh, come on,” Margot coaxed him. “You can't always have been this strait-laced! You must have done _something_ outrageous when you were young, crazy and fresh out of boot camp...”

“Well, I jumped off the top of the Citadel in Power Armor on a dare once, but that's about it.”

Margot made a disappointed sound.

“What? No wild nights out on shore leave? Attractive women hanging off both arms while you drank the bar dry? Waking up on the waterfront with no pants and someone else's shoes on?”

Danse shook his head.

“Negative.”

“But you've been kicked out of at least one bar, right?” Margot persisted. “Right?”

“Unless you count the time I had to drag you away from the Colonial Taphouse so you didn't redecorate the patio with robot parts, then no. I haven't.”

Margot made a face.

“So you've never been blackout drunk and up to no good, ever? Not even once?”

Danse looked deeply uncomfortable.

“I don't understand why you seem to be so amused by the idea of me getting into trouble, Margot. I've always endeavored to be a good example to my fellow soldiers. Why are we even talking about this?”

Margot grinned.

“Hey, just trying to get to know you better. Besides, you're kind of hot when you get all flustered. Maybe you and I should take a little stroll in the park sometime...”

Danse cleared his throat.

“Perhaps we should continue this conversation some other time, Paladin. We have work to do out here and I think we're both getting distracted. We need to focus on our mission objectives.”

 _Find the crazy person starting shit in the wasteland. Confront, talk down, or kill as appropriate. Fairly standard fare for the General of the Minutemen,_ thought Margot, as the smile faded from her face. _So why do I have such a weird feeling in my gut?_

Her stomach made a tight, queasy movement as they started walking again. Pre-mission nerves couldn't be the only reason. She'd rushed headlong into more dangerous situations than this before now. In fact, she'd been less nervous taking on the Mirelurk Queen which had captured The Castle, or teleporting into the Institute with nothing but a laser rifle and a few desperate prayers that the relay wouldn't reduce her to an unpleasant scorch mark on the platform.

_Except that was different. I was trying to save family and protect friends. I don't mind putting my own life on the line for things that matter, but Tresler died today because of a decision I made. If Danse got killed on my watch because of something I did, or failed to do – no, no, I can't. I can't even think it. I'm scared I might jinx it into coming true._

She grabbed Danse's arm, right by the elbow, and cuddled in close to him. He looked down at her in surprise.

“Is something wrong, Paladin?” he asked.

“No,” said Margot. “Not exactly. I just – stay close to me, okay? And please be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you.”

“Why?” said Danse. “Do you anticipate something going wrong?”

“I never anticipate anything going wrong,” said Margot darkly. “That's the problem. I fucked up today, Danse. Tresler should be back on the _Prydwen,_ waiting to come and pick us up again. Instead he's lying dead in our unit's burned-out 'bird, and it's all my fault. I shouldn't have tried to pick off those Gunners.”

“If you hadn't, they would have tried to shoot us down anyway,” Danse reminded her. “Those mercenaries don't give a damn who they engage in combat if they think there's some valuable loot in it for them - I doubt they would have passed up the chance to take down a Brotherhood Vertibird, even from a distance.”

“But you told Tresler we should divert our flight path and steer clear of the area,” said Margot. “You still think I did the right thing?”

“I know I suggested that we avoid the area, but in truth, I suspect it was too late for that,” said Danse, with a touch of regret in his voice. “We were already within long-distance sniper range when you sighted the enemy and I doubt we could have gotten clear before they spotted us too. Taking the opportunity to fire first was the appropriate course of action, and you were right not to waver in doing so. Gunners never hesitate to pull the trigger. Neither should you.”

Margot scowled at him.

“You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“No. Cambridge Control agreed with your decision. If they didn't, they wouldn't have given you permission to take them out. You did the best you could with the available resources, Paladin. If anyone's to blame, it's the idiot who authorized _Durendal_ to fly out with no weapons at her disposal. If we'd been better-equipped, we would have been fine.”

Margot sighed.

“If I'd been a better shot and taken out that fucking sniper before he shot out the rest of that rotor and killed our pilot...”

“Margot, it's easy to say these things with the benefit of hindsight,” Danse told her. “We make split-second judgment calls out in the field and things don't always go our way, but we make the best decisions we can at the time. Don't torment yourself with what might have been.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don't know what would have happened if you'd made a different decision,” Danse pointed out. “If you hadn't engaged them, the Gunners would all be alive and we might _still_ be walking to our destination. Or dead, just like our pilot.”

“Tresler - ”

“Tresler was an unfortunate casualty,” said Danse abruptly. “He was a good pilot, but if he'd followed our orders to evacuate promptly instead of attempting to save an aircraft which was already doomed, he would have survived. That's what happens when soldiers think they know better than their CO and fail to follow instructions.”

“So I should always follow orders immediately and without question,” said Margot innocently.

“Correct.”

“Which means I should have done exactly what Elder Maxson said and killed you?”

“Damn it, Margot!” she heard him growl. “You can't ask me to give you a pass on that one. You know you shouldn't have disobeyed orders, no matter the circumstances.”

She smiled slyly.

“But aren't you glad I did?”

“I - ” Danse stopped, and sighed. “All right, _on that one very specific occasion_... yes. I was very grateful for your intervention. But don't ever do that again,” he added.

“Wilco. Probably,” Margot told him.

“You mean wilco _definitely_ , soldier,” he said, frowning. “You want people to think I taught you to be insubordinate?”

She saluted.

“No, sir.”

“Good. I hope you've taken away some valuable lessons from this experience, Paladin.”

 _I don't know if I'll ever really learn,_ thought Margot, with a pang of regret. _I seem to keep making the same mistakes over and over. Danse seems to think I'm a good soldier, but I'm not. Good soldiers aren't reckless or impulsive. They know when it's okay to rush in with all guns blazing, and when they need to keep their head down and stay out of the fight. I just rush in anyway, and to hell with the consequences. And now Tresler's dead. I've never had anyone die under my command before. Sometimes I wish Nate had survived instead. He would have known how to deal with stuff like this... he would have been so much better at it than me._

She reached for Danse's hand and felt him squeeze her fingers back in return. That was the good thing about being this far south in the Commonwealth. It was almost completely empty, and if there was anyone around to see, then they didn't care – they were too busy surviving Gunners, Ferals and the horrors which occasionally crawled from the Glowing Sea to worry about whether a Knight-Captain and a Paladin were holding hands in the dark.

“I've decided to bury Nate,” she said finally. “When we report back to the _Prydwen_ , I'm going to speak to Elder Maxson about giving him a proper military funeral.”

Danse turned to look at her. He seemed surprised at first by her declaration, but then he gave her a small, approving nod.

“I'm glad to hear it, soldier. He was a hero and he deserves to be laid to rest like one. I'm sure Elder Maxson would be more than willing to assist you with the funeral arrangements.”

“I'm not so sure,” said Margot, sighing. “Getting Nate out of there and arranging a military funeral in Sanctuary Hills is going to be quite an undertaking. Maxson probably already thinks I'm more trouble than I'm worth... you don't think he'd refuse my request, do you?”

“No,” said Danse, without hesitation. “Arthur's a good man, and he won't turn his back on a fallen brother in Steel. Especially not one who died trying to protect his wife and child from the Institute. Captain de Havilland was one of our own, from before the war, and he'll be rendered every possible courtesy by the Brotherhood, including burial with full military honors. If that's what you want.”

Margot felt her eyes fill up with tears, but she nodded.

“Yes. It's what he would have wanted.”

Danse gave her a sympathetic look.

“I know this must be difficult for you. I'm sorry. But I'm here for you, if you need me.”

“I do,” she said, in a small voice, choked with sadness. “I need you.”

And then suddenly she was crying, and Danse's arms were around her at once. He smelled of smoke and burning metal; he was so warm, she thought, even as she wept into the armor which covered his chest.

“It's okay,” he said gently, into her ear. “I've got you.”

“I love you, Danse!” she sobbed.

“I love you too,” he murmured in return. “I hope you know how much.”

Margot looked up through a mist of tears.

“How much?”

Danse seemed thrown by the question, as if he hadn't anticipated that she might actually ask. She saw him glance up at the sky, as if for inspiration. Something seemed to strike him; apparently satisfied with the answer he'd seen in the darkness of night, he returned his gaze to her.

“More than all the stars in the sky,” he said firmly, and kissed her on the forehead. “You've taught me what being close to someone really means. I'll cherish that forever.”

Margot started to smile again.

“You know what I'll always cherish, Danse?”

“What?”

She reached up and kissed him, pulling him closer. It took her back in a flash to Danse's house in Sanctuary Hills, and the way the whole world seemed to have held its breath as they exchanged their first kiss. It had been over in an instant, but when their lips had parted and she'd seen the look on his face, she'd known that in a small, precious way, that kiss would last forever.

She closed her eyes and recaptured the moment again on his lips. He tasted sweet, like the pack of Dandy Boy Apples they'd shared over tonight's campfire, with a hint of wood smoke and longing. As the kiss deepened, she thought fleetingly of parks and missing clothing, and running from Protectrons. Dragging her staid, respectable brother in Steel off to some secluded spot for outdoor misadventures seemed unthinkable, beyond even her powers of persuasion. The _Prydwen_ was too risky; the walls were too thin, and their fellow soldiers pounced greedily on any trace of a rumor. Unless she could persuade Codsworth to take Shaun and Dogmeat for a very, _very_ long walk, even her own house seemed out of the question. But that was the kind of worry which could wait until they were less shy about kissing each other this way, and Danse seemed more sure of where to put his hands as he embraced her; his hands were pressed cautiously against her shoulders and upper back, as if he hardly dared to hold her at all.

“You,” she breathed, when at last they both came up for air. “And moments like this.”

Danse smiled, just a little.

“Same here. But I'm afraid we need to get moving. We have a mission to accomplish, and if we stand here any longer, it'll be light before we know it. We need to make the most of the fact that it's still dark, so we can get the jump on those Gunners.”

“ _Carpe noctem.”_

“Couldn't have said it better myself, soldier.”

They started walking again, hand in hand. They were within sight of the bridge when Danse gave a groan.

“Damn. It's still partially elevated. Think we can jump the gap?”

“We could try,” suggested Margot.

“Well, I'd rather not swim.”

“You can swim, right?”

“Of course. But I'd prefer not to. That water is radioactive and I'd rather avoid taking that kind of dosage before we even reach our destination. Especially given our proximity to the Glowing Sea.”

Margot looked to the southwest and saw the radioactive aurora hanging over the hills. The soft shimmer of green was almost beautiful in the darkness, but she knew better. Beyond those hills was a deadly hellscape of molten rock, burned tree stumps and a few pathetic ruins, haunted by Deathclaws, abnormally angry Radscorpions, and grotesquely bloated, charred Feral Ghouls. Two centuries and a decade after the fall of the bombs, the area was still far too radioactive to set foot in without a full hazmat suit, or better still, lead-lined Power Armor. She and Danse had traversed that tortured, glowing landscape in search of a former Institute scientist named Virgil, the only man – well, Super Mutant, at least for a time – who had known of a way into the facility. It had been quite an experience, although not one she was eager to repeat.

“Right,” she said slowly. “We'll avoid the water.”

They ran up the bridge and launched themselves across the gap. They barely made it; Margot thought she was about to fall short, and gasped with relief when they both landed on all fours on the other side. Danse picked himself up, then helped her to her feet so that they could continue their journey.

A faint glow of electric light on the right-hand side of the shore was a familiar one. Margot had visited the site of Egret Tours Marina before – it was a settlement of one, inhabited by an old woman who was convinced that she was a synth. She'd tried to invite some other settlers there to keep Phyllis Daily company, but they'd complained about the old woman's paranoia and drifted away, leaving her alone again. Phyllis had claimed that it didn't matter and she preferred to be alone anyway. Margot wasn't so sure, but MacCready, who'd been her companion at the time, had persuaded her that maybe it was for the best.

“I recommend avoiding any other settlements or built-up areas and going cross-country from here on in,” Danse advised. “The Gunners will have lookouts posted, and they may also have informants keeping tabs on visitors to this part of the Commonwealth. If we follow the old railroad south, we can use some of those abandoned boxcars for cover. We'll have to stick to the undergrowth the rest of the way.”

“Agreed.”

They left the road and crept across the landscape, tracing the overgrown railroad's lines and ducking behind the fallen boxcars. Margot could already see the dark outline of a building against the night sky, and a quick glance at her Pip-Boy map confirmed that they were almost there.

Thunder started to sound in the distance; the light in the sky was starting to change, subtly at first, then rapidly taking on a sickly shade of green.

“Rad-storm blowing in,” Margot commented. She switched off her Pip-Boy light. “Good. The noise will cover our footsteps and the lookouts will head inside for shelter.”

She nodded in the direction of their destination as they approached it from the west side. The GNN Plaza building was a large modern sprawl of steel, brick, concrete and enamel tiles, topped by a tall communications antenna studded with satellite dishes. Spindly, blackened trees and metal barricades emblazoned with the Gunners' white skull symbol surrounded the building, lending an air of menace to what would otherwise have been a perfectly ordinary structure.

“We're here. Okay. Let's find an infiltration point and get the drop on these assholes.”

The clouds of the radiation storm boiled overhead, glowing and booming. There was movement on the roof; several Gunners were ducking and running inside the building for cover as green-white lightning crackled in the air.

“Yeah, you'd better run, you bastards,” Margot muttered, as the Geiger counter on her Pip-Boy started to tick.

“There,” said Danse suddenly. He pointed. “Fire escape, behind those barricades. We can use it to get to the roof and work our way down into the building.”

Margot started to grin.

“Death from above. I like your style, Danse.”

They sidled up to the barricades and slipped through a gap, edging carefully toward the fire escape. They both took care to soften their footfalls on the metal steps, using each roll of thunder to mask the sound of their approach.

“Gunner Lieutenant,” Danse whispered in her ear. “Four o'clock, near the dome.”

“I see him. He's mine.”

Lightning cracked. At the same time, so did _Nate's Revenge_ ; the Gunner dropped to the floor with blood gushing from the back of his head.

“Hide the body,” Danse mouthed.

Margot rolled her eyes in response.

“Danse, honey, you'd think I'd never done this before...”

Danse looked on as she darted through the green-tinted shadows, almost a shadow herself – swift, sleek and soundless. She made a dive for the Gunner's body, grabbing the man by one arm and dragging him out of the way. As he watched Margot's efforts to conceal the corpse from view by shoving it under an air ventilation duct, it occurred to him, dimly, that he should have offered to assist her. But as she crept back to him again and took his hand to lead him away, all he could think about, in a dreamy, lightheaded sort of way, was that she'd called him “honey” _._

_Nobody's ever called me that before... I've been called Initiate, Knight, Knight-Captain, Paladin, sir, tin can, buckethead, asshole, even Captain Cosmos and – damn you, MacCready – Paladin Pants. But never sweetheart, or honey. Am I supposed to call her something? Darling? Gum Drop? My little Mini Nuke? This sort of thing is all new to me. I'll have to ask her later._

“I think there's an elevator over here. Should take us straight down,” she whispered. “Come on, this way.”

Silently chiding himself for getting distracted on the job, Danse shook his head and followed her, crouching low and watching for signs of movement beneath the rad-storm's roiling green clouds.

Margot was correct; there was an elevator shaft at the top of the roof. The doors popped open at the press of a button.

“Going down,” she murmured.

They stepped into the small, enclosed space. The elevator doors closed behind them.

“Okay,” she announced. “Sunglasses on.”

Danse looked at her in disbelief.

“Wearing sunglasses at night is absolutely ridiculous, soldier.”

“Outside, sure,” said Margot, already fumbling for her shades. “But it could be bright in there and we need to preserve our night vision. Besides, Gunners frequently wear sunglasses. If they catch sight of us by chance, looking kind of like them will provide us with a tactical advantage. They'll hesitate before shooting, and we know what that means.”

“Dead Gunners,” said Danse immediately.

Margot grinned.

“Better them than us. You ready?”

“Ready,” agreed Danse, happier now that he was on safer tactical ground.

They both donned their sunglasses and smiled at each other.

“ _Ad victoriam.”_

The elevator shuddered into life, and took them down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recon Squad Gladius' ill-fated Vertibird, Durendal, is named after the legendary sword of Emperor Charlemagne's nephew and paladin, Roland. Mentioned in "The Song of Roland" and various other works of medieval French literature, Durendal was said to be the sharpest sword in all of existence (a previous owner was said to be Hector of Troy), and it was forged by the same blacksmith as its sisters, Almace and Curtana. Roland attempted to destroy Durendal in order to prevent its capture by the enemy, but it proved to be indestructible; according to local legend, the sword can still be seen lodged in the cliffs at Rocamadour, France. The Vertibird's motto, "Pro Honore Et Gloria", is the closest approximation I could find to Danse's battle cry: "For honor! For glory!".
> 
> Oh, and Nate used to get airsick. I love the irony of it - de Havilland was the name of a famous British aircraft manufacturer (it still exists today as part of BAE Systems, although it no longer operates under its original name, and it produced a number of notable and influential models, including the Moth biplane (1920s), the lightweight Mosquito bomber (World War 2) and the world's first commercial jet liner, the DH 106 Comet, which operated from the early 1950s until as late as 1997). Somehow I doubt Margot's dad would have been impressed if he'd found out...


	13. Dead Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not usually one for trigger warnings, but I thought a few readers might appreciate the heads-up for the next couple of chapters. This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and scenes/elements which some readers may find distressing, including references to torture, rape/non-con, and abuse. I've tried to avoid anything too graphic (not a fan of that sort of thing) but still, consider this fair warning.

_I hate basements,_ thought Margot, as the elevator doors sprang open and they slipped out into the shadows.

This one was no different. It reminded her of Vault 111. Concrete, metal and damp. Pipes and walkways and industrial lights. Darkness which concealed all manner of monsters and consumed the people brave, foolish or desperate enough to descend into its depths. She'd seen too many bodies, and too many bones, in places like this.

As a child, she'd been scared of the dark. Peggy, with a wicked glint of mischief in her eyes, had told her that she was being stupid and the dark was nothing to be scared of:

“ _It's what's in the dark you have to worry about, Margy-Bargy,”_ she'd said, snickering at her big sister's obvious discomfort. _“The dark isn't the monster - it just hides them. Ghosts and witches and vampires like the dark. They lie and wait for you under the bed until night-time, so they can come out from the shadows and - ”_

She'd screamed so loudly that her mother had forbidden Peggy from watching _Captain Cosmos_ for a week. It had been another week before her six-year-old sister had forgiven her for making her miss the episode where Captain Cosmos had flown to Neptune, Peggy's favorite planet.

 _You were right, Peg,_ she thought, as she slunk around the corner from the elevator and through a forest of red-painted steel support beams. _It's not the dark. It's the things it conceals. Darkness is my friend... unfortunately, it's their friend too. Down here, it's my night vision against theirs. We'll have to see who comes out on top._

“Spotlight,” she whispered, grabbing Danse and pulling him back before he could walk into its path. “Wait a second and let it pass.”

When the beam of blinding white light skipped along the concrete and passed back the way it came, they crept out across the expanse of floor, stooped so low that they were almost crawling on all fours. They both spotted a door and made a beeline for it, with their hearts pounding in their throats.

Margot listened at the door and then pushed it open, as slowly as she dared. There was nothing on the other side but a flight of metal stairs up to the catwalk, and a cloud of dust suspended in the light. Softly, on tiptoes and bended knee, she approached the stairs, listening all the while for footsteps and voices.

Danse followed her up the steps. He wasn't so bad at this, Margot thought, although he claimed to prefer the kind of mission where he went in loud. Once he was out of his Power Armor, he was surprisingly light on his feet.

_And totally hot._

She chanced a look at him, and saw him frown.

“Eyes front, soldier,” he said, in a much quieter version of the rough baritone which made her a little weak at the knees. “Pay attention to your surroundings, not me.”

She nodded.

_Damn it, I'm getting distracted. This is exactly the kind of thing I was worried about. Still, I wouldn't want to venture into the unknown with anybody else. If we stick together, we'll both be okay._

The blades of an industrial fan outlet on the wall were still turning. The movement was painfully slow, not even enough to ruffle her hair; a gust of wind was more likely to be responsible for the motion than mechanics after all these years. She moved past it, letting the soft, drawn-out creaking of the fan stifle the sound of her footsteps.

“Movement left,” Danse said softly in her ear.

Margot's head jerked toward the doorway halfway along the catwalk. Inside was a control room which contained several electrical consoles - all painted a pale turquoise - and a desk with the burned-out shell of a terminal still sitting in place. Staring out through an opening which overlooked the rest of the basement was a man in olive-colored military fatigues and combat armor. An assault rifle hung from his hip.

_Gunner. Must be watching to see what the spotlight hits, if anything. Time for him to tune out..._

She crept up behind him and seized him swiftly by the head and shoulders. Before he could yell out a warning, she clapped a hand over his mouth.

“How's this for a commercial break, asshole?” she hissed in his ear.

She made a hard, abrupt motion with her arms and heard the _snap_ of vertebrae as the Gunner's neck broke; a slight sigh escaped his lips and he dropped limply to the floor. She stowed the corpse behind a supply cart and went through the pockets of his uniform.

“Anything?” said Danse hopefully.

“Nothing significant,” Margot murmured, although she pocketed a handful of 10mm rounds.

She glanced up at the clock on the wall. Nine forty-seven, she noted. If the faces of wall clocks across the Commonwealth were to be believed, it was always nine forty-seven in the morning. Their hands had stopped moving when the bombs fell, trapping that moment in time forever like a fly in amber.

Across the room was a trunk painted Army-style, dull green with a single white star on the lid. Above it was stenciled the Gunners' familiar skull logo, white with a voided-out X painted on the forehead. It had to be one of their supply stashes. Margot rummaged through the box and found armor, weapons, ammunition. She took the ammunition and left the remaining items behind. While in theory she could never have enough weapons and armor in the wasteland, practical considerations like weight reminded her that there was far more loot here than she could carry. She needed to be light on her feet, not loaded down.

_I can come back for the good stuff later if I need it. It's not like I'm short on military kit._

Margot ducked back out of the room again and stole along the catwalk, creeping like a panther through a jungle of steel bars. Her ears pricked up at the sound of movement; a Gunner Sergeant was passing below, his footsteps echoing on the concrete beneath her. She climbed up onto the railings, balanced herself carefully, then dropped down without a sound. She landed on the man's back and shoulders, knocking him to the floor.

“Surprise!” she whispered, and slammed his forehead into the concrete with a skull-shattering crack. She felt the man sag lifelessly beneath her arms. _Dead_ , she thought. For a second, she felt the familiar twinge of guilt, but then she remembered what Preston had told her about Quincy and felt her teeth clench with anger.

 _Don't feel bad for them, Margot,_ she reminded herself, as she dragged the mercenary's body into the shadows and dropped it into an empty oil drum to hide it from view. _They're nothing but a bunch of hired killers. They destroyed the Minutemen, murdered innocent civilians and turned a thriving community into a ghost town. They don't deserve your pity. Each time you drop one of these bastards, you avenge a fallen Minuteman and make the Commonwealth a little safer..._

Danse jumped down after her and landed heavily on all fours. If he'd been wearing Power Armor, the tremors would have cracked the concrete with a sound that could have woken even the residents of Vault 111 from their eternal sleep. Instead, there were muffled sounds of metal and leather. Margot felt her heart beat a little faster at his approach.

“See anyone else down here?” he said, his voice still soft and quiet.

“No, and I'm not sticking around to see if more of them show up,” she responded, at an even lower volume. “We need to get out of this goddamn crypt and find the AntAgonizer. She has to be upstairs. There's nothing down here of interest to her.”

The next door led through to a maintenance area; tool chests and huge ventilation pipes. A construction floodlight had been set up; it was facing away from them, bathing the interior of the room in brilliant white light for at least a few meters ahead.

“Damn, that's bright,” Danse said, under his breath.

“Told you,” Margot replied. “Sunglasses are wardrobe essentials on trips like this.”

She rotated the light away to face the wall and they continued through the shadows, keeping their footsteps soft and their profile low. Through the next doorway was a huge generator, half-hidden behind a wall bedecked with Pre-War safety posters exhorting workers to _“Protect Your Hands!”_. On the other side was an elevator.

Margot breathed out softly. That had to lead back up into the main building. She grabbed Danse's hand and dragged him into the elevator compartment, slamming her hand on the buttons inside.

“ _Going up,”_ the robotic announcer informed them.

“Good,” Margot sighed. “I've spent enough of my life underground.”

Safe for now inside the confines of the juddering, rumbling elevator, Danse relaxed a little, leaning against the wall. Margot couldn't follow suit. The adrenaline was coursing too hard through her body; she felt cold, sick and shaky, despite her triumph over the two Gunners who had never seen or heard her coming.

“ _Ground floor.”_

The doors opened. Margot stepped out -

“Huh?”

\- and stepped back into the elevator again, holding her breath. That hadn't been Danse, and that certainly hadn't been her.

“Shit!” she mouthed, pressing herself against the wall of the elevator and holding up a hand to warn Danse against venturing outside. “Hold position.”

Danse nodded.

They waited with bated breath and thumping hearts until the Gunner somewhere beyond made a dismissive remark and continued down the hall. Footsteps knocked against the dusty, debris-strewn wooden floor until the sound became too muffled and distant to follow.

The hallway beyond the elevator was a very different environment from the industrial passages below; wooden floors and wooden panels, with wrought-iron wall sconces and paintings so thick with filth and decay that the painted landscapes had faded from view. What remained of the lighting was softer and more subtle, but the shadows were also less pronounced.

A doorway on the left led to a row of offices, subdivided by wooden partitions, with metal desks and file cabinets in their recesses. Most of the terminals which sat below the peeling Galaxy News Network promotional posters were smashed up or burned out, but two or three were still intact, and even active.

“Check out those terminals, Danse,” Margot muttered over her shoulder as he followed her. “I'll make sure this area is clear.”

He obliged. While she checked corners with _Nate's Revenge_ drawn, she heard him move from desk to desk, tapping away at the terminal keyboards. She returned a moment later, satisfied that there were no Gunners to be found lurking in the dark.

“Anything?”

“Nothing significant. Found some technical documents in one of the desk drawers, though. Proctor Quinlan will be pleased.”

“No intel. Damn. I was hoping for something. All right, let's keep at it. She has to be here somewhere...”

They crossed to the other end of the hallway. There were bathrooms here; one of the stalls in the men's room was still occupied. They stared at the skeleton in military gear, still perched on the porcelain bowl.

“What a way to go,” said Margot, shaking her head. “Poor bastard. Two centuries on the john. Hope he wasn't waiting for someone to bring him more toilet paper.”

She left, and was about to open the next door when Danse stopped her.

“Hold it. It's booby-trapped. Tension trigger, lower left,” he murmured.

Margot followed his gaze down.

“Shit, almost missed that. Good catch, Danse.”

She knelt down to fiddle with the improvised device and deftly disarmed it, reducing it to a few spare scraps of gears and springs. The grenade bouquet which dangled inside the closet demonstrated just how close she'd almost come to disaster. She removed it with care, cutting the string with her combat knife and deactivating the grenades.

_Thank God for Danse. The others wouldn't have noticed that in the dark until too late. Except Nick, or Curie. Nick never misses a trick and Curie's so curious that she can't help but observe everything, no matter how inconsequential. Must be something about synths – sharper senses? Better perception? Or maybe they're just smarter than the rest of us. No wonder Maxson wants them all destroyed. Humanity doesn't like competition. That's what started all this mess in the first place, isn't it? Competition breeds hostility, and hostility leads to war. Some things never change._

She ducked in through the door, and then almost fell backward out of the room again.

“Danse!” she gasped, covering her mouth as much from the smell as from horror.

“What is – _oh._ Oh no...”

The body of a Brotherhood of Steel pilot lay sprawled on the floor; the corpse seemed to have been thrown untidily into the room and left there. It had apparently been there for some time. The orange jumpsuit and brown leather bomber jacket were both saturated with unspeakable-smelling fluid, and the soldier's skin had blackened and withered beneath the flight helmet. The sickly-sweet stench of decaying flesh seemed to fill the whole room.

Gagging silently and trying not to breathe in, Margot reached for the holotags around the dead soldier's neck and felt the chain snap and loosen.

“Lancer-Captain Andrew Corwin,” she said softly, after studying the readout. “Registration CR-293LC.”

Danse's eyebrows shot up.

“Lancer-Captain Corwin? He and his crew have been missing for over six months. The _Sabina_ was sent out on a tech run and never returned. No distress call, no emergency beacon. Nothing. No trace of them was ever found. We assumed they'd gone down over the ocean and listed the team as MIA.”

“Looks like Corwin was KIA,” said Margot, with a regretful look at the body. “Do you think the others survived?”

She saw Danse's fists clench.

“There were two other soldiers aboard that Vertibird. If the Gunners sold them into slavery, or – or worse – well, they'd better hope and pray that we find them alive. If they've murdered them, I'll tear this building apart piece by piece to get to those godless sons of bitches...”

Margot looked up at him. He was shaking with anger, but the look on his face was one of pure anguish; he'd lost another brother in Steel, and feared for the lives of two more members of the only family he'd ever had.

“We'll bring them home, Danse,” she promised him quietly. “Don't worry. And those bastards who killed Corwin aren't going to get away with it. Let's find them and show them what the Brotherhood thinks of cowardly murderers.”

They closed the door quietly on Lancer-Captain Corwin's putrefied remains. Margot pocketed the holotags and looked around.

Danse glanced down again at the broken remnants of the booby-trap.

_The Gunners must have set it in case a search-and-rescue team tried to track down Corwin and his squad. The minute they breached the door, they'd see Corwin's body, rush to help... and get caught in the blast. It was a trap, and those sick bastards used our fallen brother as bait. They're going to pay for this!_

He made for the double doors and stopped short when he saw the homemade tripwire stretched across the skirting board.

“This must lead to a central area of the building,” he whispered to her. “The tripwire indicates that they consider this an obvious point of ingress.”

“Yeah, too obvious. They're expecting visitors. We'll need to find another way around.”

Margot could feel her heartbeat pulsing in her neck. She didn't like this. It was too quiet. The lights were dim, but there weren't enough shadows. If someone were to come around the corner at the wrong second...

She ducked behind a bank of sandbags and watched as Danse followed suit. The corridor's ceiling was higher here, and the turnings which led off to each side sucked in some deeper shadows. Margot breathed in, relieved - until she heard a metallic fluttering which she recognized from Sanctuary Hills and every other settlement she'd united under the flag of the Minutemen.

“Turrets!” she hissed.

Danse peeked over the top of the sandbag wall and saw them. One on each side of a set of double doors; above the doorway was a sign, flashing the letters “On The Air” in luminous red.

“There and there,” he noted in a quiet murmur. “There's no way we can deactivate them from here without attracting attention. We'll have to sneak past them and take them from behind.”

He heard Margot snort.

“From behind. _Pfft._ ”

“Don't be juvenile, Paladin,” he sighed. “You're not here with MacCready.”

“Pity,” was her response. “He used to run with these guys. Maybe he could have given us some pointers.”

“The Brotherhood of Steel doesn't need the help of renegade mercenaries,” Danse retorted, still in the same hushed tones. “We're professionals.”

“I don't know, you seemed pretty glad to see me and Codsworth running to your rescue in Cambridge,” Margot riposted effortlessly. “Here, take this and take out the turret on the left. I'll take the one on the right.”

She took something from her hip and passed it to him. Danse turned it over in his hands. A small brown satchel, identical in every respect to the one he'd used on the _Prydwen_ to rescue her from the clutches of Knight Payne.

“But what about - ”

With a hum and a shimmer, she was already invisible. The only movement was a whisper of wind on the waves of a glimmering sea; he had to strain to see the outlines of her body as she moved stealthily toward one of the turrets.

Danse pressed the button on the Stealth Boy and felt himself disappear. Beyond sight, beyond reach of the turret's motion-detection sensors. He vaulted the wall of sandbags with a single bound and crept down the hall toward the turret on his left. He expected it to whir to life at any moment and whip around, puncturing his body armor with dozens of bullets; instead, its motor kept puttering gently as it turned back and forth, unaware of his presence. He ducked behind the turret and worked quickly, removing the casing and unhooking wires from the circuit board until the machinery grew silent and still. He saw the turret's counterpart across the hall pop open, apparently of its own accord, and knew that Margot's nimble fingers were hard at work on the electronics. It, too, shut down after a moment, the turret's barrel dipping like the lowered head of a robot at rest.

“Clear,” came a soft, disembodied voice a few feet away. “All right. Let's get those doors open. She has to be in there.”

The door handle moved, but the door didn't.

“Locked,” said a patch of empty air, with evident displeasure. “Can't pick this one. We'll need the key.”

Danse grunted his disapproval. This was taking too long.

“Can't we just breach it?”

“And tell every Gunner in the building that we're here? No, that key's around here somewhere. We'll have to split up and look for it. Rendezvous here in ten, if not sooner. Be careful, sweetheart.”

He felt a breath of air kiss his cheek, and then there was nothing at all.

“You too, darling,” he murmured. The unfamiliar word felt strange in his mouth. He'd never been a sweetheart before, and he'd never had anyone to call darling. But now he did. He was in love, and there was no finer feeling in the world, even if the thought of his beloved made him so giddy he could hardly breathe.

 _I guess it'll take some getting used to,_ he thought, as he wandered down the hall in a dream; a nudge of instinct cut through his happy reverie and reminded him to stay low.

She'd only just left his side, but he missed her already. There was a space beside him where she should have been; cool air where there should have been warmth, and the stale smell of dust instead of steel armor and the floral scent of her hair. It tugged at his heart in the same way it had in Diamond City, when the urge to bridge the miles in a single bound and run back to her arms had overcome every instinct he'd ever had.

He picked up his laser rifle, taking care to keep it within the little stealth field which surrounded his body.

_Margot's Kiss. Now that's something worth fighting and dying for. But I'm not going to be the one to feel it. It's going to grace the foreheads of a dozen Gunners before we're through here. For Corwin and Tresler. For the Brotherhood. For the Commonwealth._

With a grim smile that nobody could see, he pressed forward.

*

 _Ten seconds,_ thought Margot, holding her breath. Just ten more seconds of unfair advantage, and then the scarred, tattooed Gunner behind the desk would spot her. But he wasn't going to stop her from completing her mission. Either he'd never see her coming, or she'd be the last thing he ever saw.

_You're going down either way. Say your prayers, you bastard. You'll need them where you're going..._

She picked up an empty Nuka-Cola bottle from the floor and tested the weight of it in her hand. She adjusted her grasp on the bottle's neck, then flipped it out of her hand, sending it sailing into a long arc up onto the landing above the desk. It flew over the half-collapsed wooden balustrade and shattered on the floor.

The Gunner looked up abruptly, frowning, from a tattered magazine.

“The fuck was that?”

He dropped the magazine face-down on the desk and got up from his seat to investigate. When he marched over to the stairs, Margot slipped behind him, matching his pace and speed exactly so that the sound of their footsteps blended together. He put his foot on the bottom step of the stairs and started to climb -

She pulled her combat knife from its sheath, grabbed him by the head and drew it across his throat before he could scream.

“This has been another exciting episode of _Margot vs. The Gunners._ Thanks for watching, motherfucker,” she whispered to him, as he breathed in blood and collapsed, choking, at the foot of the stairs. “Tune in next time and see what happens when you murder one of my brothers in Steel!”

She manhandled the body behind the desk and did her best to conceal it from casual view. She went through the man's pockets – nothing – and then scanned the desk and shelves. There was a peach-colored porcelain vase with a floral pattern and a faintly iridescent glaze, and a teacup and saucer perched neatly on the desktop next to the Gunner's discarded magazine.

As she picked up the worn magazine and turned it over to see what the man had been reading before he died, the stealth field around her wore off. The temporary invisibility which had enveloped the magazine faded, and now she could read the title on the cover.

_It's the Fallon's catalog. Fall 2077. I never did get that new tablecloth I ordered. I doubt I'll have any luck calling up Customer Service for a refund. Some Raider would probably just pick up and tell me to go fuck myself, if anyone answered at all._

She set down the magazine and went upstairs to the small lounge area on the mezzanine. When the top step creaked loudly underfoot, it provoked a response; a small choking sound from behind the partition of a small office area.

“ _No... not again... please...!”_

The sentence dissolved into pitiful sobbing.

Margot felt her heart catch in her throat. The voice was young and female. But this was Gunners territory, and the sound of a sobbing woman could mean one of two things - a prisoner, or a trap. She thought of Lancer-Captain Corwin's rotting corpse, stashed in a booby-trapped closet to lure unwitting rescuers to their doom. Was this some poor settler being sold into slavery, or a Gunner who'd heard her coming and considered her a soft enough touch to fall for the holotape of a victim's voice, or even one of their female recruits masquerading as a hostage?

She bit back the urge to call out to the suspected prisoner, or to Danse for assistance. Instead, her grip steadied around _Nate's Revenge_ and she crept forward to the door. The sobbing was growing noisier and even more pathetic; she heard deep, shuddering breaths and little gulping sounds.

She opened the door with more than the usual caution, looking around for signs of tampering. Switches, wires, mines - anything that shouldn't have been there. But when the door opened a little more and she heard a rush of air that might have been a gasp from someone who hadn't been half-paralyzed with fear, dismay clutched at something in her chest.

The figure kneeling on the floor was an emaciated young woman in a torn, bloodied olive-and-black Brotherhood jumpsuit. Her face was badly bruised and her black hair, once neatly shaved at the sides, had grown out around her untidy ponytail. Holotags dangled from her neck where the uniform fabric had been ripped open. Both hands had been shackled roughly behind her back.

“Kn-Knight de Havilland?” she exclaimed. “Oh God, help me! Please get me out of here!”

Her voice disintegrated again into thin, weak sobs, as if she barely had enough strength left to cry. Margot wanted with all her heart to rush over to her young comrade and hug her, but she wondered if this might be another trap, this time with live bait; she found herself looking the girl over for explosive slave collars, or some booby-trap which might take them both out as soon as she approached.

“What happened?” she whispered.

Tears ran in torrents down the young soldier's face, streaking through the grime on her cheeks.

“We were on a tech run for Proctor Quinlan,” she said hoarsely. “The Gunners ambushed us at the drop zone and th-they – they killed Lancer-Captain Corwin! They tortured Knight Belasco – they made me watch! And then one of them said they'd never been with a Brotherhood girl before, so they tied me up and they – oh, God...”

Margot felt bile rise up in the back of her throat. That was the kind of treatment usually doled out by Raiders to their captives. Gunners were ruthless, calculating bastards, but they weren't known for taking prisoners, and they claimed to be more disciplined than the savage gangs of chem fiends who roamed the Commonwealth in search of Jet, Psycho and cheap thrills. If this was how they really operated, then it was no wonder MacCready had thought better of his decision to throw in his lot with them. She hated the thought of the atrocities he must have been forced to witness before his conscience had screamed at him to flee the Gunners for good.

_He told me about contract killings and slavery, but this? This is inhuman. Real soldiers fight with honor and show respect for the fallen. They sure as hell don't abuse their prisoners. And they bury the dead instead of leaving them to rot. Fucking animals..._

“It's all right, soldier. We're here to bring you home,” Margot murmured, kneeling to embrace her fellow soldier. She felt the girl flinch at the touch of hands on her back, and wondered what on earth the Gunner downstairs had been planning to do to her.

“Thank you!” the soldier sobbed. “Please, Knight, get me out of here before he comes back! He's downstairs, waiting for the shift change so he can - ”

“He's dead,” said Margot. Her lips tightened with anger. “He won't be hurting anyone any more.”

Hope rose in the girl's dull blue eyes, bringing them to life again.

“You – you killed him? That sick son of a bitch, he was going to... thank you, Knight. You don't know what it means to me to know that he's finally dead. I don't even know how long he kept me locked up in here. He only let me out when he wanted to - ”

“It's all right,” interrupted Margot, before the young soldier could burst into tears again. “Try not to think about it right now. Let's just get you out of here, okay?”

The young woman wriggled obediently around until she was facing the other way. Margot looked down at the girl's wrists. The handcuffs had been fastened too tight; they were digging painfully into her skin, leaving deep red marks where metal had rubbed against raw flesh.

“Did the Brotherhood send you to rescue us?” said the girl timidly, as Margot took a screwdriver from her kit and started to loosen the screws which held the handcuffs in place. “I thought they gave us up for lost.”

 _They did_ , thought Margot, but there was no way in hell she was going to say so.

“The Brotherhood doesn't leave its soldiers behind, sister,” she said instead, throwing aside the broken handcuffs and helping the girl to her feet. She took her by the elbow and led her to the stairs. “Come on. Let's find Knight-Captain Danse and regroup.”

The young soldier's face grew a shade paler.

“ _Knight-Captain_ Danse? You mean Paladin Danse was demoted? What happened, Knight?”

Margot stopped, halfway down the stairs. The events which had led to Danse's exile from the Brotherhood of Steel had happened after the capture of the _Sabina_ and her crew. The girl would have had no idea that Danse was a synth, or that Elder Maxson had been persuaded to overlook that inconvenient fact and reinstate him anyway, under threat of artillery fire and all hell breaking loose at Margot's command.

“Long story,” she said uncomfortably. “He and I kind of traded places. I've been promoted to Paladin. For now, he's Knight-Captain Danse. I'll explain later. Right now, let's just concentrate on getting you out of here.”

“Belasco!” said the girl, suddenly, desperately. She grabbed Margot's arm as she started to descend the stairs again. “Paladin, we have to find him! They were trying to get him to hand over the access codes to the Brotherhood radio channels, so they could lure more Vertibirds out here... he wouldn't talk. The last time I saw him – I don't even know how long ago it was, but he was in really bad shape. If we don't get him out of here, he's going to die!”

“We're not leaving him,” Margot reassured her. “Don't worry, soldier. If Belasco's alive, he's coming home with us. We're going to make these sick bastards pay for everything they've done.”

The young woman sniffled, and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

“Thank you, ma'am...”

Margot wanted again to hug her, and to tell her that everything was going to be fine, but remembered how the girl had shrunk away at the slightest touch; physical contact was clearly an unpleasant reminder of her ordeal. She decided that Danse's hands-off, professional approach was the better route to follow.

“Soldier, I need intel,” she said instead. “Knight-Captain Danse and I are attempting to locate an individual known as the AntAgonizer. She's been broadcasting threats of violence to the Brotherhood and the people of the Commonwealth, and if rumors are to be believed, she has some sort of fire-breathing ant army under her control. We believe she's broadcasting from this location. What can you tell me about her, and this facility?”

The young woman shivered.

“She hired the Gunners to protect the building and make sure nobody tried to interfere with her broadcasts. I saw her once, in the recording studio - Belasco and I were tied up in there when we first arrived. Creepy-looking woman in an ant mask. When she saw us, she told the leader – I think his name is Captain Wes – that she didn't care what happened to Brotherhood soldiers and he and the others could do whatever they wanted with us.”

“And then what?”

The girl started to tremble, and Margot immediately regretted asking the question.

_They did whatever they wanted. That poor girl._

“Never mind,” she said quickly. “We think the AntAgonizer is holed up in the recording studio, but we need to find the key. Do you know where they keep it?”

It took some effort, but the girl managed to pull herself together. Her expression set into something harder and more determined; it was as if her fighting spirit was slowly coming back to her now that she'd been freed from captivity.

“I overheard a couple of them talking one night when they thought I was asleep,” she said, scowling at the memory. “There are three senior officers with a key to the recording studio. Captain Wes is one of them. There are two others – a guy called Cruz, and another one called Ryder. They keep the keys on them at all times. Ma'am, I suggest we find one of them, beat the ever-loving crap out of them, and take their key so we can go find the AntAgonizer. Then I respectfully recommend that we find Belasco, kill everyone on the way out, and burn this godforsaken place to the ground.”

Margot gave her an approving look.

“You. I like you. What's your name, soldier? I don't think we were ever introduced.”

The girl saluted.

“Knight-Sergeant Ellens, ma'am. Recon Squad Minerva.”

“When we get home, Ellens, you're getting a commendation for bravery,” Margot told her. “Now stay on me. We're going in quietly. Please make me aware of any booby-traps or improvised explosive devices that you may have seen around this area.”

“There are plenty, ma'am,” said Ellens, lowering her voice. “They have frag mines set down in the main area, and turrets and tripwires everywhere. This location serves as some kind of regional headquarters for the Gunners, so they're pretty determined not to let anybody infiltrate this place. How _did_ you get in here, Paladin?”

“Rad-storm outside sent the roof sentries running for cover,” said Margot. She led Ellens toward the door; out of the corner of her eye, she saw the younger woman shoot a hateful glance at her tormentor's corpse. “We came in through the fire escape on the west side. I'm hoping we can use the same route for exfil. Do you know what they did with the _Sabina_?”

Ellens averted her eyes from the body slumped behind the desk.

“I'm not sure, ma'am,” she said. “They may have taken it to their secondary base in Quincy. They've been trying to ambush Brotherhood teams out in the field so they can capture our Vertibirds. We've lost the _Glaive, Hasta_ and _Pugio_ to the bastards already. A couple of them even tried to snatch the _Hoplon_ , but Lancer-Sergeant Greer made short work of them when they tried to get into the cockpit.”

Margot couldn't conceal her shock. The _Hoplon_ belonged to Team X-Ray, and their pilot, Lancer-Sergeant Greer, was ferociously protective of the aircraft; she'd once killed three Raiders with her bare hands after a carelessly-thrown Molotov cocktail had scratched the _Hoplon_ 's paint. She could only imagine the bloodbath which would have ensued if the Gunners had attempted to oust Greer from the cockpit of her beloved Vertibird.

“Greer's a fine soldier,” she whispered as she peered around the doorway, looking for signs of activity. “And so are you, Ellens. Come on, let's find Danse and Belasco.”

A hiss of movement caught Margot's ear. She drew back, signaled to her younger comrade to stop and maintain her position, then peeked again around the corner. She saw a shadowy figure do the same. He was watching her watch him, she realized. One of them would have to make the first move.

_It's going to be me. The number of people who need me alive outweighs the number of people who want me dead. No fucking way am I going to die here... not today!_

“Stop right there, you son of a bitch!” she hissed, unholstering her sidearm. She pointed _Nate's Revenge_ at the man in sunglasses and armor. “One wrong move and - ”

“Margot, it's me,” the shadow whispered back. “Check your fire!”

The angry color rising in Margot's cheeks abruptly withdrew.

“Danse,” she gasped, breathing out again. “Oh shit... I thought you were one of them!”

“I noticed,” said Danse flatly. He crossed the hallway and joined her in cover. “Area's clear. Just some offices and a few beds. Caught a couple of Gunners napping. Always hated killing men in their sleep, cowardly thing to do, but I couldn't run the risk of them waking up to go on patrol. One of them was already stirring. Another second and - ”

He caught sight of Ellens, behind Margot; his eyebrows soared.

“Knight-Sergeant Ellens? You're alive?”

Ellens saluted.

“Sir. Still alive. No thanks to those bastards.”

“You okay, soldier? You look pretty roughed-up,” said Danse, frowning.

“You don't know the half of it, sir,” said Ellens darkly. “Knight Belasco's in even worse shape. He's in trouble and he needs our help.”

Danse looked concerned.

“Where is he?”

“Unknown, sir,” Ellens reported. “They kept us separated. It's been a while since I saw him last. I'm not even sure how long I've been here, sir. What day is it?”

“August fifth, 2289,” Danse informed her. “Monday.”

Ellens' eyes widened sharply.

“ _August?_ Holy shit... I thought it had been two, maybe three months. I've been here all this time?”

“I'm afraid so, soldier,” Danse said solemnly. “I'm sorry we weren't able to locate you sooner. We sent a search-and-rescue team to your last known location, but there was no trace of wreckage and no distress signal. We assumed that the _Sabina_ had been lost over the ocean with all hands aboard.”

“You – you thought we were dead,” Ellens said, with a faint tremor in her voice. She started to tremble again. “If you hadn't come here for the AntAgonizer, we would never have been found... we would have died out here and nobody would ever have known...”

“You did well to survive out here this long, Ellens,” Danse told the young woman. “I'm sorry to hear of your mistreatment. But rest assured, the Gunners' crimes will not go unpunished. We'll make sure of that. Are you still able to fight?”

Ellens nodded.

“Y-yes, sir,” she said, adding, with a little more conviction, “I'll fight until the day I die. For I am Steel. I bend, but do not break.”

“You're a credit to the Brotherhood, sister,” said Danse, visibly impressed by her response. “Well done. We could use a dozen more soldiers like you.”

He turned to Margot.

“Paladin, I recommend that we stick together from here on out. Knight-Sergeant Ellens may need additional tactical support after a prolonged period in captivity, and it sounds as though Knight Belasco will require medical attention once we find him.”

“Acknowledged,” said Margot. “Now let's go find Belasco. Remember, stay low, stay quiet, and stay close. Keep an eye out for traps. _Ad victoriam._ ”

“ _Ad victoriam,”_ she heard Ellens and Danse whisper behind her.

One by one, they crept into the shadows and let the darkness swallow them whole.

*

Glass crunched underfoot as they crept past a broken display cabinet.

“Watch your footing, there are pieces of glass everywhere,” Danse warned them, in the low voice he'd adopted ever since setting foot in the building.

Margot and Ellens both nodded, and did their best to pick their way through the debris. They were in some sort of dining area, an open space littered with round wooden tables and chairs. A set of marble stairs led up to a half-landing, and then up again to the next level. Above them, thunder was still sounding, like the distant boom of waves pounding against the shore; the Geiger counter on Margot's Pip-Boy resumed its soft ticking.

“Shut up, damn it,” she muttered, and gave the device a thump with the ball of her fist.

She glanced up at the ceiling and the shattered glass dome above the stairs. Dull green lightning streaked across the clouds which covered the night sky. Still dark, and still noisy. The perfect night for stealth. The Gunners would be listening to the storm, not them...

“See anyone up there?” she whispered to Danse.

Danse shook his head.

“Negative. Looks clear.”

“Okay, up the stairs. Quickly. Danse, you take that room on the left. Ellens, check the right.”

They hastened up the stairs, boots squeaking a little on the wet marble. Thunder covered the noise like a blanket, shielding them from detection. Margot had never been so glad to see a rad-storm before. Her first experience with the storms had been terrifying; she'd been patching the walls of her house in Sanctuary Hills when she'd spotted the sick greenish clouds coming in. Codsworth had hurried her into the root cellar at the first crack of lightning, warning her to stay safely inside until the storm passed and the radiation abated. He'd sheltered there with her and done his best to explain to his frightened owner that rad-storms were now a normal part of the Commonwealth's meteorology:

“ _Nothing to be alarmed about, mum. The odd radiation storm is to be expected from time to time nowadays. Just be sure to take shelter and stay indoors until the weather clears up again, and make sure you have some Rad-X or RadAway to hand, just in case. The important thing is to be ready, not afraid!”_

Danse and Ellens darted across the landing, heading in opposite directions; they each grabbed a door and pulled it open.

“Bathroom,” Danse mouthed, and gave her the “clear” gesture. Ellens looked over her shoulder at Margot and made the same gesture.

“Roger that,” Margot mouthed back. “On me.”

She crouched down and moved toward the white double doors which led through to the next hallway, then lowered her stance a little more to peer through the keyhole.

“More damn turrets,” she whispered in Danse's ear as the other two members of her team converged on her again. “That one looks like it's wired up. Must be a central terminal somewhere. I'll go in and shut it down.”

Ellens looked panicky.

“Ma'am, are you sure that's safe?”

“No, but we don't have a lot of options at our disposal right now, so I'm going in,” Margot replied. She rummaged in her kit for another Stealth Boy. _Last but one,_ she thought. _Better not waste it._ “You stay here with Danse and watch our six.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Margot took the penultimate Stealth Boy and activated it. Ellens looked startled by her superior officer's sudden disappearance, as if she'd never seen a Stealth Boy in action before. Perhaps she hadn't, Margot thought. Stealth Boys were rare Pre-War military tech and definitely not standard-issue; the ones brought in from tech runs usually went straight to the quartermaster, or to the Scribes for further study.

She gripped one of the doorknobs and turned it cautiously, pressing her left ear to the door to listen for movement on the other side. When she heard none, she nudged the door open and slipped through the gap as soon as it was wide enough to admit entrance, closing it carefully behind her.

The narrow passage widened into a larger corridor about halfway down. Margot saw wall sconces burning on the support pillars, pictures hanging loosely from the walls, and the empty frames of display cases – and a machine-gun turret rattling at the end of the hall.

She ran down the hallway, her ghostly outline glimmering like traces of sunlight on water. She held in her breath the whole way, so hard that she thought her chest might burst with the effort.

 _Please don't go off, please don't go off,_ she implored the turret as she passed it. Her eyes followed the cable across the wall to the open doorway on the left. Inside was an office with a gaping hole in one of the walls, as if someone in Power Armor had decided that doors were too much trouble and simply barged through the plaster instead. On the other side were dusty, damaged bookshelves, some paintings, a desk – and a terminal with a telltale blue-green glow emanating from the vents in the back.

_Ha, there it is. Let's take a look..._

Margot clambered behind the desk and leaned over the terminal. Password-protected, she noted, but that wasn't a problem. After all, she was her mother's daughter. Former high school Latin teacher Joanne Fontaine had been co-opted by the war effort and sent to work for RobCo, and she'd taken to new programming languages the way she'd once taken to the dead tongue of ancient Rome. She'd passed on her knack with computer code to her daughters; Margot had been an especially attentive student, and she had yet to find an operating system which she couldn't bend to her will. If you knew what to look for, there were patterns - clusters of code which would eliminate false leads, narrowing down the parameters until the correct password was staring you in the face.

“Okay,” she muttered, as her fingers flew across the keyboard. “Yep – nope, damn. Maybe...uh... ah, _there_ we go.”

The menu screen popped up. Control over the turrets was at her fingertips; a few more keystrokes and she could deactivate the Gunners' automated defense systems completely. She didn't hesitate. She tapped the Return key and watched the warning flash on screen, green on black, as the turrets powered down.

“This is Galaxy News Network, signing off,” she said, in a small, satisfied purr. “Goodnight, America.”

With a few more keystrokes and the use of a favorite holotape program, she reflected, as she slipped soundlessly from the room, she could have cleared the targeting data and reprogrammed the turrets to attack any Gunners who unwittingly strolled into their path. Having the enemy picked off by their own defense systems was a trick she'd used in Raider encampments, and one which had saved her a lot of time, trouble and ammunition in the past. Unfortunately, the commotion would have alerted the other Gunners to the fact that something was amiss, and then the jig would be up.

_No, they're better off powered down. That way there'll be no warning, and no opportunity for the AntAgonizer to escape our grasp. After everything we went through to get here, I'm not letting that bitch get away._

Margot considered pressing on, down the corridor lined with wooden benches and cracked paintings of sand dunes and tranquil lakes, to the open doorway which apparently led out to an atrium, but decided against it. The stealth field was short-lived and wouldn't take her that far. She had to get back to Danse and Ellens.

She hurried along the corridor as fast as she dared. Her breath was cold fire in her chest, held in tightly and anxiously. Her pace quickened as she passed an office door and heard something stir on the other side - the wooden scrape of furniture, and the shuffle of boots on the floor.

“ _Damn it, the Captain should've been back by now,”_ she heard a male voice grumbling. _“Guess I oughta check on that Brotherhood bastard one more time, make sure the ants didn't eat him yet...”_

Margot cast a terrified glance over her shoulder. The noises were coming closer. She had to get away, back on the other side of the double doors, and fast -

She fought the urge to scream as a door opened behind her. A Gunner in combat pants and a green-gray shirt, ragged at its edges, emerged from the gloom of the office beyond. She caught a glimpse of silver hair, part-shaved and part slicked-back, before terror took her away on her tiptoes.

_Shit, shit, shit..._

With a sound between a whine and a hum, the stealth field collapsed, stripping her of her protective shield of invisibility.

“What the hell?”

Margot stiffened. She could feel the eyes on her back, watching, waiting for her to turn around. She heard the click of an assault rifle being readied behind her. Her breath hissed between her teeth. This was it. She was dead.

_Shit._

“Who the fuck are you?”

There was no point in prolonging the inevitable, Margot thought, swallowing. Perhaps there was some way she could cajole, threaten, or otherwise talk her way out of this mess. She turned around.

“Paladin de Havilland. Brotherhood of Steel,” she announced, with what little courage she had left. She could feel the goosebumps rising on her forearms and the prickle of cold up her spine. “I'm here for the AntAgonizer. Give me the key to the recording studio and nobody else has to die.”

The man glared at her.

“No fucking way. Put down your weapons and come with me! I don't know how the hell you got in here, but you're not leaving this building! Not alive, anyway..”

He grinned suddenly.

“Hah. You know what, it's about time another one of you Brotherhood bitches showed up. We were getting bored of the last one. We handed her over to Borden in the end. He doesn't care who he fucks, as long as they can't fight back.”

Margot's hands started to tremble; outrage was burning away the fear, a hot sensation replacing the cold one in her chest.

“Give me the key,” she said quietly. “I won't ask again.”

“What, you think you can intimidate me into giving you my key, just like that?” said the Gunner scornfully. “Hell, no. Not happening. Now hand over your gear, get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head! If you're lucky, maybe I'll hand you over to Ryder. He plays a little nicer than Borden. Doesn't like to mess up pretty faces.”

Margot smiled a small, tight smile.

“Ryder, huh? Then you must be Cruz...”

The man returned her stare defiantly.

“What's it to you, bitch?”

Margot's smile grew sweeter and more deadly.

“Well, it's always nice to know what to put on the tombstone.”

She saw Cruz go for the trigger, but _Nate's Revenge_ jumped from its holster first. Blood sprayed the wall behind his head; he sagged to the floor, leaving a smear of crimson down the wall, then slumped sideways. His assault rifle dropped onto the floorboards with a clatter.

“That's for Ellens, you piece of shit,” Margot muttered, with a contemptuous look down at the cooling corpse. “I hope the Devil hands you over to your buddy Borden when you get to Hell. See how _you_ like it.”

She went through Cruz's pockets until she found what she was looking for. The recording room key was strung on a Vault Boy keychain; the ever-cheerful little corporate mascot grinned up at her with a plastic smile. She picked up the assault rifle from the floor, remembering that Ellens was unarmed; she'd need a weapon, especially now that their cover of silence and darkness had been broken. _Nate's Revenge_ was swift, but far from silent, and every Gunner in the building would have heard the sound of that shot. Right on cue, she heard voices:

“ _What was that?”_

“ _I heard something.”_

“ _You heard it too?”_

“ _Of course I fucking heard it. Go check it out, you morons!”_

She heard the approach of running feet and stood up, ready to run, but two Gunner Corporals were already bearing down on her.

“Intruder!”

“Get her!”

*

Danse and Ellens were almost bowled over as the doors slammed back on their hinges. Margot hurled herself through the doorway and made for the stairs, stopping only to throw the assault rifle at a surprised Ellens.

“Contact!” she bellowed. “Danse, cover me, I'm going for the recording studio! Ellens, with me!”

“This is the part of the job I love!” Danse roared, and rushed in through the open doorway. _“Ad victoriam!”_

Margot heard panting behind her as Ellens caught up; the young soldier was clutching the assault rifle to her chest as if it were her only reminder of home and family.

“Is he going to be okay, Paladin?” she gasped.

“Of course,” Margot told her. “Danse is the Brotherhood's best - he'll take care of those assholes! Come on, we have to get to that studio before the AntAgonizer can make a break for it!”

“Yes, ma'am!”

 _And I thought everything was going so well,_ thought Margot regretfully, as they ran back downstairs. _Oh God, what a shitshow. Next time I'm putting Danse in charge. At least he knows what to do when a mission starts heading south. Please, God, get us out of this alive..._

“Let's go!” she ordered, louder, to drown out the sound of her doubts. “Come on, move! Move!”

Ellens almost fell down the stairs in her haste to follow Margot. Her feet skidded on the wet marble; the worst of the radiation storm had passed, but a sprinkle of rain was starting to fall through the dome overhead. Margot caught the girl by her arm and steadied her before she tripped down the steps.

“You okay?”

“Yes, ma'am!”

Behind them, at the top of the stairs, they heard gunfire, the harsh zapping sounds of laser weaponry and the sound of Danse hollering:

“ _For the Brotherhood!”_

Margot jumped the last few steps and hit the ground running. Ellens landed more clumsily behind her and stumbled, wrenching her ankle. She fell awkwardly onto her side and crashed into a broken table with a loud cry. Margot was about to run back and pick her up from the floor, but the younger soldier shook her head.

“It's okay, Paladin, I'll catch you up!” she said breathlessly.

Margot wavered, unsure what to do. She didn't want to leave Ellens unattended, but the whole building would be on high alert now that they'd abandoned stealth tactics and opened fire on the Gunners. If she didn't get to the recording room, and fast, the AntAgonizer would take advantage of the chaos and escape...

“Ma'am! Go!” Ellens insisted, still trying to pick herself up. “Don't let her get away!”

Margot nodded and broke into a run.

“ _Ad victoriam,_ sister!” she yelled over her shoulder, by way of apology.

“ _Ad victoriam!”_ Ellens shouted after her, with a hasty salute, then winced and clutched her ribs. “Kill that bitch for me, Paladin! Make her pay!”

The sounds of battle followed Margot as she tore down the hallway, propelled forward by the dark, violent urge for vengeance. She was going to make the AntAgonizer pay for looking the other way as the mercenaries in her employ tortured and abused innocent Brotherhood soldiers. For threatening to turn the Commonwealth into a giant ant farm and enslave its human populace. For the nightmares about giant ants marching beneath a sky red with nuclear annihilation, while Danse's life ebbed away beside her and everything she'd known was blown away by the wind.

_It's my job to kill monsters. And I love my job. Sure, the pay sucks, the boss is an asshole, and I miss having a corner office, but the coffee's decent, Danse has to be the hottest coworker I've ever had, and best of all, management actively encourages me to shoot at things I don't like. Best damn job in the world..._

The soles of her feet slammed against the dusty wooden floorboards, each footfall a clap of thunder. Bullets in the distance were the sound of hail; each laser beam a strike of lightning. She kept listening for Danse's voice and the battle cries he delivered at full volume. He was the sound of the storm the Brotherhood had unleashed upon the building, and she was its fury given form. Together, they would tear the Gunners and their headquarters apart; there would be nothing left of this place but dust by the time they were done.

Margot stopped at the sight of the glowing “On The Air” sign, and the closed doors. Her heart jumped. They were still locked. There was still time.

She shoved the key into the lock and turned it. The lock didn't budge left. With a frustrated growl in her throat, she twisted it in the opposite direction. It turned right for a few degrees, then resisted... and snapped. The top half of the key came away in her hand, still attached to the keychain.

“You have to be fucking _kidding me!_ ” she hissed.

She threw the useless key aside and took a step backward.

_All right, I guess I'm doing this the old-fashioned way. Fuck stealth. I'm going in loud._

She raised her right leg, extending it to waist-level, and slammed her foot against the crack between the double doors. Centuries-old wood, weakened by age and neglect, gave way; with a dreadful creak of hinges, the doors burst open and rocked back on their fastenings.

 _I always wanted to kick a door open, like they used to do on The Silver Shroud,_ she thought proudly, as she marched into the room with her pistol drawn. _I wish Kent could have been here to see me do that..._

But when she pointed _Nate's Revenge_ at the figure sitting behind the desk, she realized that something was wrong.

“Where's the AntAgonizer?” she snarled.

The Gunner dropped the issue of _Guns & Bullets_ he'd been reading and rose from his chair, hands raised helplessly above his head.

“How the hell should I know?”

“You tell me where your boss is, or I'll put a bullet in your head!” Margot threatened. “Where is she?”

The man shook his head desperately. He was a thuggish-looking type, bald and stubbled; he wore jeans and combat armor, and a green shirt worn so thin that the plaid pattern was barely visible. Margot saw him give the gun on the counter a hopeful, sidelong look.

“Don't even think about it,” she warned him. “I'll ask you one last time. _Where is she?_ ”

“I'm not telling you shit! I - ”

Knight-Sergeant Ellens appeared behind her. She had a streak of blood down one cheek and she was breathing hard, but her face was aglow with something pink and triumphant; she'd returned to the battlefield, where she belonged, and now reveled in the joy of revenge.

The Gunner scowled at the sight of the young soldier.

“The fuck is she doing loose?”

Ellens' face contorted with anger as she recognized him.

“ _Ryder,”_ she growled, raising her assault rifle until she was scowling down the sights at the man. “You sick son of a bitch! You and Cruz handed me over to that bastard Borden! At least Cruz had the decency to leave the room. _You watched._ And now you're going to watch what I'm going to do to you, you fucking psychopath! You're going to rue the day I got out of those handcuffs - ”

Margot stuck out an arm to hold her back.

“Hold up, soldier,” she told Ellens. “Let's see what Mr. Ryder here has to say for himself. Get the doors, will you?”

With a sour look on her face, Ellens stomped toward the room's entrance.

“All right,” said Margot pleasantly. “Take a seat, Mr. Ryder. I promise this won't take long. Now, I heard you Gunners boys like handcuffs... let's see how you like them when I'm done with you.”

The doors slammed closed.

*

Danse burst out onto the mezzanine and looked around, panting, for the next target.

The lobby of the GNN Plaza building was an impressive sight. Its focal point was an enormous copper globe sculpture, blue-green with age and verdigris; a rocket orbited the globe, its flight path encircling the planet in graceful metal arcs. Below him were silver chandeliers and the wood-and-glass partitions which had transformed the outer edges of the foyer into offices. This part of the building had seen some construction activity before the Great War, and extensive military fortification after the onslaught – a forklift truck was still parked in the room, and there were sandbags, barricades and turrets down below. He spotted a couple of fragmentation mines half-hidden in the debris on the floor, and wondered how on earth men could function when their home base doubled as a death-trap.

But his attention was drawn to the shuffling, clicking sounds down below. Half a dozen ants patrolled the foyer, circling around the sculpture and wandering in and out of the partitioned offices. Thin, jointed legs picked delicately through the debris, effortlessly avoiding the mines as if they knew exactly what they were.

Two of the ants were approaching a young man, who was sitting in a wooden office chair placed directly behind the sculpture. When Danse peered down at the figure, however, he realized that the man hadn't chosen to sit there – he'd been propped up in the seat, his wrists and ankles tightly bound by lengths of rope. He was struggling and whimpering, shying away from probing antennae and insectile limbs.

And then he looked up and spotted Danse standing on the floor above him.

“Help!” he screamed. “Help me! Please! Don't leave me here, brother!”

Danse realized at once who it was. A young Knight from the Commonwealth, new to the Brotherhood, promoted from Initiate just a few weeks before he went missing. Knight-Commander Elgin had mentioned that the new recruit was already performing well in the field and showing promise; he'd been tipped for another promotion before the year was out. Although Danse hadn't been introduced to the man, he'd hoped to meet him out in the field.

_But not like this..._

“Belasco!” he yelled down at the man. “Hold on, Knight! I'm coming to get you!”

“Paladin Danse! Sir!” Knight Belasco wailed. He started to strain at his bonds. “Get me out of here! _Don't let them eat me!_ ”

Danse's first instinct was to vault the balustrades, jump down into the lobby and smash every one of the repulsive mutant ants to pieces, but while he would gladly have waded through tides of blood and mountains of corpses to rescue a brother in Steel, his body armor offered nowhere near the kind of protection he needed against machine-gun turrets. Without Power Armor to break his fall and shield him from flurries of bullets, he would be dead in seconds.

_Turrets first. Take them out, then the ants. Make sure the top floor is clear of hostiles before jumping down. No sense in letting them pick you off from up high. Once the coast is clear, get down to Belasco and cut him loose. Rendezvous with Margot and Ellens. Find the AntAgonizer, deal with her, and proceed to the exfil point. Remember your training, soldier... remember the plan._

The bodies of dead Gunners already lay thick on the floor of the hallway behind him, but there would be more. There were always more enemies to find, more pests to exterminate. He could hear shouting coming from the rooms beyond.

Steeling himself for a fresh fight, Danse fired down at the turrets. They exploded in showers of shrapnel, pieces of metal casing flying across the lobby. The ants below went berserk and rushed away from Belasco, pincers and antennae twitching as they searched for the culprit. They were larger than the ones he'd seen at Oberland Station; Danse decided that these were probably soldier ants, rather than the workers he'd seen at the nest.

_Not that it matters. Margot's going to kiss them all goodnight._

True to her name, _Margot's Kiss_ made short work of the ants. Laser beams penetrated the tough red carapace with relative ease after a few well-aimed shots. One by one, the ants flipped over onto their backs, limbs folding into a death position. Below him, he heard Belasco yell out again – a warning this time.

“Sir! Gunners inbound! Take cover!”

Danse charged through a hole in the wall and into a disused office. He saw the outlines of tables and a fallen bureau in the darkness. A pair of shutters had been set into the wall which faced out over the mezzanine. He nudged one of the shutters until it sat slightly ajar, held his breath, and waited for the other Gunners to emerge.

It didn't take long. He watched as they swarmed out of side rooms, several of them looking confused and disheveled, as if the sounds of combat had woken them unexpectedly from their sleep and called them to action. He heard them yelling to each other, codewords and curses -

“Search pattern Sigma! Move!”

“Where'd he go? Do you see him?”

“Negative visual!”

“Fuck!”

“Where are you, you bastard?”

He watched as they fanned out in all directions, dispersing along the mezzanine and hurrying from room to room in search of him.

_That's right. Separate and stay out of each other's view. Stay angry and distracted. Makes my job a whole lot easier. I just hope Margot's all right down there. I – no, no, focus. Focus, Danse. Margot's fine. Just clear this area and get Belasco to safety. Then you can get back to her._

That was all the motivation he needed. He lay in wait, feeling his throat dry up and his heart pound as one of the Gunners approached.

When the man passed the shutters, Danse shoved the barrel of his laser rifle through the gap and fired. At point-blank range, _Margot's Kiss_ was deadly; like its namesake, it provoked a sigh and reduced the man it touched to a twitching heap on the floor. The other Gunners looked round at the sound of the laser blast.

“Shit! Romero's down!”

“Where'd that come from?”

“Eyes peeled! He's around here somewhere!”

 _I suppose stealth has its uses,_ Danse thought, with a small smile. _Seeing your enemies panic and run around looking for you is rather satisfying. It certainly makes it easier to pick them off, one by one._

“Playing games, huh?” one of them hollered from the next office.

_Perhaps I am. Cat and mouse. And I'm going to win._

Through the open shutters, Danse saw several of the Gunners reunite and run into a larger room nearby. He could see them scurrying past the openings in the wall, uttering foul curses against the Brotherhood of Steel and its members.

He took the duffle bag from his back and went through it. It had been methodically packed and he soon found what he'd been searching for - a fragmentation grenade. He took the small metal object and rolled it around in his hand thoughtfully.

_What would Margot do? That's an easy answer. Raise hell, give no damns, say something witty... and look good doing it._

He yanked the pin from the grenade and hurled it across the mezzanine. He saw the grenade rise like an ascending prayer, soaring along its trajectory before reaching its apex and descending again, dropping neatly through the open shutters which lined the wall.

“And now for a few words from our sponsors!” he bellowed. _“Ad victoriam!”_

He grabbed his kit and made a run for it, diving into another ruined office for cover. Across the hall, he heard the sounds of panic, and running feet. The grenade detonated. Clouds of dust and smoke poured through the open shutters; the whole building seemed to shake on its foundations. Wood creaked, and broken boards fell through the gap in the mezzanine floor to the level below, taking a screaming Gunner down with them.

“We lost Hinckley! Shit!”

“Chapman's down too!”

“Where are you, you son of a bitch?”

Danse could hear the voices coming closer. They were approaching his position. Three more of them - two gruff male voices, and one harsh, female voice. He wondered why a woman would ever join the Gunners. She must have been aware of what had been done to Knight-Sergeant Ellens. How could a woman ever stand by and allow such barbarous cruelty to be inflicted on one of her sisters?

_Gunners are just Raiders with better gear and uniforms. The only true soldiers belong to the Brotherhood of Steel - and we know how to deal with mercenary scum who take pleasure in the suffering of innocents._

“God, I hope there's a bounty on you!” he heard the woman snarl, on the other side of the wall.

 _Several, I expect,_ thought Danse, as he went through his kit again and took out a fragmentation mine. High-ranking Brotherhood of Steel members were also high-profile Gunner targets, although the mercenaries would be reduced to piles of glowing ash long before they could ever reach someone like Elder Maxson or Lancer-Captain Kells. He was almost certainly on the kill-list somewhere, either as a senior field commander or – more likely nowadays – as a renegade Institute synth with a Gunner kill count as long as his arm. As second-in-command of the Minutemen and one of the few survivors of the Quincy Massacre, Preston Garvey would also be on the list; MacCready, too, for having enough sense to defect from the Gunners while he still had a shred of conscience left. As for Margot, she'd put down dozens of the mercenaries out in the field, clearing out their bases and defending settlements from their raiding parties, which put her right at the top of the Gunners' “most wanted” roster - the bounty on the infamous General of the Minutemen was said to run into the tens of thousands of caps.

_Striking terror into the heart of the enemy. That's my girl._

He wondered how she and Ellens were faring, then shook his head. No time for speculation. He activated the mine and set it down on the floor, then stood up, stuck his head through the shutters and called out:

“Looking for something?”

Heads turned; they spotted him, and cried out in rage.

“There he is!”

“Get him!”

Danse ducked back at the sound of gunfire, snatched up his kit and ran. He watched over his shoulder as the remaining Gunners chased him through the abandoned office, only to see them yell and try to turn around again as the proximity sensor on the mine went off and began to beep. Falling over each other in their haste to escape, they tried to throw each other aside, each intending to be the first to reach the door.

The force of the explosion rocked the whole mezzanine. Debris showered everywhere; broken bits of wooden shutters rained down onto the foyer below. Danse watched the smoke settle, and waited to hear the screams of any wounded survivors, watching for any signs of movement. At last, he heard a low, drawn-out groan.

“Oh God... Ellis? Mason? Shit... I can't feel my legs...”

It was the woman, thought Danse, with a sinking heart. Of all of them, it had to be the woman. He headed back into the office to investigate and saw the female Gunner sitting there, clutching the shrapnel wound in her stomach and looking down in disbelief at the blood on her hands. Her mouth and nose were bleeding; her legs had been crushed beneath the same fallen cabinet which had shielded her from the worst of the blast. The other two Gunners lay dead in a heap of severed limbs, torn apart by the explosion.

The wounded Gunner looked up at Danse and growled:

“You might as well kill me and finish the job, you son of a bitch. I'm done and you know it.”

Danse swallowed.

“The Brotherhood doesn't take prisoners, soldier,” he said, his voice dull with dismay. “In other circumstances I'd offer to treat your wounds, but - ”

“But you know that's a waste of fucking time,” said the Gunner, glowering up at him. “Either way, I'm dead. It's not like you could send me to a settlement anyway - the Minutemen would tell me to go fuck myself, especially after we hit Warwick Farmstead a few weeks back. You'd think the family would be grateful that we killed the synth son of a bitch in charge of that operation, wouldn't you?”

She let out a mocking laugh, and spat out blood.

“Fuck it. At least now I'll get to see my brother again. Lost him on the last run. Damn settlers took him out at Sunshine Tidings.”

“Tell him the Brotherhood sends its regards,” said Danse curtly, his pity evaporating at the mention of attacks on friendly settlements. “And that the General of the Minutemen says hello.”

The woman grinned through bloody teeth and raised a defiant middle finger.

“Tell the General I'll be there waiting for her on the other side. And you, asshole. Fuck you both, and fuck the Commonwealth. Now end it, you bastard.”

Danse took a deep breath.

“ _Ad victoriam_ ,” he muttered, and fired.

The Gunner twitched once, then slumped forward, head sinking to her chest. Danse looked down at the body and felt the stirring of shame in his chest. He knew it had to be done. Allowing the mortally wounded to suffer as they died was inhumane. But after Knight Worwick and the way Haylen had wept as she'd administered the overdose of Med-X to ease the man's passing, mercy-killing had started to sit less comfortably with him, and the headaches and the nightmares had grown steadily worse. One more ghost would haunt his dreams tonight, he thought. One more face staring at him from beyond the grave, asking him why they were dead and he was still alive.

“Sir?” called out a plaintive voice from below. “Are – are they gone?”

Danse ran out of the office and jumped over the balustrade, dropping down on the floor of the lobby below. He winced a little as he landed; he was used to dropping long distances in Power Armor, and had forgotten how jarring a rough landing was on the knees. He pushed the discomfort aside. It didn't matter. His brother in Steel needed his help.

“Belasco!”

He rushed to the Knight's side and was struck right away by the man's appearance. Not the blood or the bruises; the sunken cheeks or the scars. The blond hair, the piercingly blue eyes, something in the way he held his head up, bold and defiant...he looked for all the world like a brother he'd lost a long, long time ago.

 _Why weren't you there by my side, brother?_ he heard Cutler's voice whisper accusingly, somewhere in the back of his mind. _You brought my holotags home, but not me. Why didn't you come sooner? Why didn't you save me?_

“No,” Danse muttered. “I'll save you, brother. This time I'll save you, I promise...”

Belasco looked at him, confused.

“Sir?”

Danse shook his head, and stooped to untie the other man.

“Nothing. I'm sorry, Belasco. I should have gotten here sooner. Are you all right?”

Belasco fell out of his chair as Danse's combat knife cut through his bonds. He landed on his hands and knees and started to sob, his shoulders shaking beneath the weight of months of torture and grief.

“Oh God, sir... the stuff they did to us!” he said, looking up at Danse with wide, fearful eyes. “They butchered Lancer-Captain Corwin when he wouldn't hand over the access codes. They tortured me in front of Knight-Sergeant Ellens, and they – they did things to her, _unspeakable_ things. Every time she screamed, they'd hand her over to the next man. And the next, and the next... I couldn't help her... I'm so sorry, sir! Please tell her I'm sorry!”

He broke down again, crying so hard that he could barely breathe. Too shocked to speak, Danse could only pat him on the shoulder. It wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough, he realized. What Belasco and Ellens had endured was the kind of thing which left permanent scars; not the ones you wore on your skin, but the ones which woke you screaming at night.

“I tried to stop them!” Belasco was sobbing. “I begged them to do it to me instead! I told them they could kill me if they promised to let her go, and they just laughed! But no matter what they did to her, she didn't talk. And I didn't tell them anything either, sir. Just my name and registration, like the Brotherhood taught me...”

Danse helped the young man to his feet.

“It's all right, soldier,” he said. Gentle reassurance was completely inadequate, but it was all he had to offer. “You're safe now.”

“I remembered my training, sir. I remembered,” repeated Belasco, gulping back more sobs. “One of them, the one called Cruz... he said he was fed up of hearing my registration number and that Captain Wes was going to have me fed to the ants when he returned from Quincy. He said maybe that would finally make her talk. But I didn't betray the Brotherhood, sir, I swear in the name of Steel! I didn't tell them anything! I didn't... I didn't tell... for I am Steel, I bend but do not break...”

Danse looked down at the young man's hand. It was encrusted with dried blood; his fingernails were missing, he noticed, feeling a pit of nausea open up in his stomach. They'd pulled them out, one by one.

“Where's Knight-Sergeant Ellens?” said Belasco urgently. “Sir? Is she all right?”

“She's alive, Knight,” Danse told him. “Paladin de Havilland rescued her. They're going after the AntAgonizer as we speak.”

Belasco looked startled.

“ _Paladin_ de Havilland?”

“Long story,” Danse said wearily. “Come on, Belasco, let's get you out of here. Can you walk?”

“I – I think so, sir.”

He took a few unsteady steps to demonstrate, then collapsed. Danse picked him up again and slung him over his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, Knight,” he said gruffly, as he walked away. “I know this isn't the most dignified way to get you out of here, but if you aren't able to walk, I'm going to have to carry you. I can hardly expect Paladin de Havilland to haul you around. She's strong, but not that strong.”

“Understood, sir,” mumbled Belasco. “I'm sorry for the inconvenience.”

 _Sorry,_ thought Danse. He felt sick again. After all the man had suffered, he was _sorry_ for being an encumbrance _._ Most men would have caved and told the Gunners their life story months ago, but he hadn't breathed a word; in his late teens, young Knight Belasco was already braver and more resolute than some of the veteran soldiers Danse had known in the Capital Wasteland.

“You don't have to be sorry, soldier,” he said out loud. “Surviving this kind of prolonged torture was a remarkable feat of endurance. Elder Maxson would be proud of you.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Belasco whispered, over his shoulder. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Glad to do it, brother. Once we're done with the AntAgonizer, we're returning to the _Prydwen_. You'll be home before you know it.”

Belasco started to weep again.

“The _Prydwen_... oh, God, I never thought I'd see daylight ever again. Thank you, Paladin...”

 _About that,_ Danse wanted to say, feeling his conscience twist uncomfortably at the mention of the rank he no longer held. He thought better of it. Now wasn't the time.

He was stepping carefully over the tripwire which had been strung across the exit when a scream rang out down the hall.

“Knight-Sergeant Ellens!” gasped Belasco. “Sir, she's in trouble!”

“No, but someone else is,” growled Danse. “If they've hurt Ellens, or Margot...!”

He charged down the hall toward the recording studio, with the protesting Knight still hanging over his shoulder.

*

“ _You motherfucker!”_

The baseball bat smashed against Ryder's face. He cursed, and spat out a broken tooth.

“Brotherhood _bitch._ I knew we should have killed you when we had the chance!” he snapped. “You and your little fuckboy Knight were more trouble than you were worth! If it had been up to me, I'd have cut both your throats and fed you to the ants, but Captain Wes wanted you alive!”

“What does the AntAgonizer have to do with this?” Ellens snarled, and swung the baseball bat again. “Talk, you son of a bitch! You tell the Paladin everything she wants to know!”

“Fuck you!”

“All right, Ellens, that's enough,” Margot ordered, from the corner of the room. “I don't like watching one of my fellow soldiers beating the crap out of prisoners. We don't do things like that in the Brotherhood of Steel.”

“No, ma'am,” said Ellens, panting. “We don't take our enemies prisoner in the first place. We _kill_ them.”

“Be that as it may, this is sadistic,” Margot said primly. “If Danse saw you doing this, he'd lose his shit. Give me the bat and go sit down. Let me handle this.”

She took the bat from Ellens' unprotesting hands and watched as the young Knight-Sergeant went to sit on the couch in front of the newsreader's desk. Ellens put her boots up on the coffee table and settled down with Ryder's copy of _Guns & Bullets._

“ _Street Guns of Detroit_ ,” Margot read the cover from across the room. “Nice. Let me know when you're done with that issue, Ellens. I wouldn't mind reading it myself.”

Ellens saluted.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Margot set the baseball bat neatly down on the desk and walked around to the other side. The Gunner sat in the chair where veteran newsreader Horris Aimes had once read the six-thirty evening news bulletins; his hands were shackled behind his back, attaching him firmly to the chair so that he couldn't escape. Ellens had helped her tie his feet together, although she'd been kicked in the head for her trouble. It had been all she could do to stop her younger comrade from shooting him in the face. She had, however, carefully averted her eyes when the young woman had found a baseball bat beneath one of the bunks and approached him with a look of dark intent.

_She was entitled to some payback after what happened to her. He deserved worse. But if she carried on like that, he wouldn't have been in any shape to talk. We need him alive._

“So, Ryder,” said Margot, stooping to look the Gunner directly in the eyes. “Tell me. Since when did the Gunners start taking prisoners?”

Ryder smirked.

“Since Captain Wes decided he wanted his own fleet of Vertibirds. He said they'd have intel – codes to the radio channels, so we could send out fake distress calls to the Brotherhood and hijack a few more of their Vertibirds. What a fucking joke. The kid wouldn't talk, even after we killed the pilot. Even after we handed the girl over to Borden. Guy's a fucking sicko - I thought she'd talk for sure after a few rounds with him. She was just lucky I was there to keep an eye on her. If I'd left her alone with him - ”

“Lucky?” shrieked Ellens, standing up. “You watched him do those things to me and you think I should consider myself _lucky?_ Paladin, requesting permission to beat this sick bastard into a bloody fucking pulp!”

“Permission denied, soldier,” said Margot coolly. “I'm sorry. The Brotherhood of Steel doesn't torture people. I already regret allowing you anywhere near him with some kind of weapon. That kind of conduct is unbecoming in a promising young officer like you. You're better than they are and I won't see you stoop to their level. Understood?”

Ellens reddened, and sat down again.

“My apologies, ma'am.”

“Apology accepted. Now, Ryder,” said Margot, turning back to him. “I'm sure you made a careful note of the fact that the Brotherhood of Steel doesn't take prisoners, and doesn't torture people. We live, fight, and die with honor, according to the laws of our Codex and the teachings of our Elders. We don't inflict unnecessary suffering on our enemies.”

“Yeah, you Brotherhood types are fucking saints,” said Ryder. He rolled his eyes. “ _Ad fucking victoriam_ and all that bullshit. The hell with you. You can shove your Codex up your asses for all I care.”

“Unfortunately for you, I'm not here on behalf of the Brotherhood,” Margot informed him, with a big, winning smile. “I'm here as a representative of the Minutemen. And as I'm sure you're aware, the Minutemen has a pretty big bone to pick with the Gunners. Especially after what you did to the people of Quincy. You remember Quincy, right? Well, _so do we._ ”

The smug look disappeared from Ryder's face.

“What?”

“Yeah, you heard right. I'm with the Minutemen,” Margot told him, leaning closer. “And in the Minutemen, we don't like thugs. We don't like murderers, thieves, rapists, or hired killers. We take a _very_ dim view of bounty hunters who tear their way through whole towns to get to a target. And I don't know if you've heard about the General of the Minutemen, but she _especially_ hates people who prey on the innocent and vulnerable. Unlucky for you. Because she's right here, and boy, is she pissed _._ ”

Ryder looked her up and down, then laughed.

“You? _You're_ General de Havilland? That arrogant fucking bitch who parades around in a fancy coat and thinks she's all that because she cleared some Mirelurks out of a beat-up old fort? Please. There's no way you're a military commander. You look like you've never been outside your whole life!”

“You'd be surprised,” said Margot, raising her eyebrows sharply. “Now tell me why you're here, taking orders from a woman in an ant mask. Who is she, _where_ is she, and what does she want with the Commonwealth?”

“I ain't telling you shit, lady,” said Ryder stubbornly. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Oh, I'm so glad you said that,” said Margot, with a coo of satisfaction. Her eyes glinted maliciously. “You see, I was never allowed to beat the answers out of people in court when I was cross-examining them. The Massachusetts Bar Association looked down on that sort of behavior. But in the case of _The People v. The Gunners_ , I think I might be forgiven for a slight lapse in conduct, as long as it doesn't set any precedents...”

She kicked out savagely and caught Ryder full in the chest; the chair toppled backward, taking him with it. He cursed as the back of his head struck the floor.

“You fucking bitch!”

“Oh, I haven't even started yet!” growled Margot. She grabbed Ryder by the throat and hauled him back up into a sitting position, chair and all. “Now you listen to me, you son of a bitch! You're going to answer all my questions to my complete satisfaction, or you're going home in a jar! Now you tell me where the AntAgonizer is, or I'll - ”

The doors burst open.

“Paladin!” Danse demanded to know. “What's going on here?”

Margot turned and felt her chest tighten. He'd caught her doing something he wouldn't approve of. Something _wrong_ , she reminded herself, amid a tide of rising shame. Intimidation was one thing, but using physical violence against a prisoner who couldn't defend themselves was cowardly and dishonorable. In the old world, she would have faced charges for that kind of behavior, and rightly so. She did her best to mask her guilt with a smile.

“Ah, Knight-Captain,” she greeted him, releasing her hand from Ryder's throat. “You're just in time. Mr. Ryder here was just about to tell us everything he knows about the AntAgonizer, and why his commanding officer wants to steal our Vertibirds so badly. Were you aware that they're in possession of the _Glaive_ , _Hasta_ and _Pugio,_ and that they also tried to hijack the _Hoplon_?”

Something tightened in Danse's face.

“I was not, Paladin,” he said stiffly. “Do tell us more, Mr. Ryder. Tell us why you had one of our pilots violently murdered, why you spent months on end brutalizing two of our soldiers, and what any of this has to do with that masked miscreant from the television broadcasts.”

Ryder grinned.

“Sure, pal, I'll tell you whatever you want to know. But how about we sweeten the deal a little?”

Danse gave him a long, dark stare.

“What are you talking about?”

“I'll behave and tell you everything you want to know. But in return for my cooperation, I get to fuck _her_ ,” said Ryder, leering in Margot's direction. “She looks like one of those poster girls from before the war. Always wanted a piece of one of those perfect asses. How about it? You get your way, and I get to have my way with her. Fair, right?”

Margot saw Danse's nostrils flare. That was a bad sign, she thought. Danse's features were often set in a frown, but when his expression darkened noticeably and his nostrils started to flare, it meant that he was nearing the end of his patience - and that someone else was about to have a very bad day.

“If you _ever_ speak to the Paladin like that again in my presence, I will render you permanently incapable of having intimate relations,” he said, in a low, menacing growl. “Comply with her instructions and you may even walk out of here alive! Now I suggest you tell her whatever she needs to know, or - ”

“Change of plan, Knight-Captain,” said Margot loudly, cutting him off. “Let's just wait for that Captain Wes guy to come back and work on him instead. This loser isn't even worth interrogating. He probably isn't high-up enough in the hierarchy to know anything useful anyway. What is he, just a Private?”

Ryder scowled.

“I'm a Master Sergeant, you insolent bitch!”

“Oh, wow, a Master Sergeant, huh? My mistake,” said Margot sarcastically. “Well, _Master Sergeant_ , it really sucks to have a title and nothing useful to say. Didn't they think you were important enough to share information with? Did they get you to make the coffee and shine the Captain's boots, and give you a fancy-pants rank to make you feel better about it?”

“Are you kidding me? I know everything that goes on in this place,” the Gunner boasted. “ _Everything._ But I'm not telling you a damn thing!”

“Aww,” said Margot, feigning disappointment. “You know what, that's too bad. I'm sure Captain Wes will be really upset when he comes back and finds out we've executed his favorite coffee boy, along with everyone else in this building. You do realize that you're the last Gunner left alive in this building, right?”

She saw Ryder's face whiten and knew that she'd struck a nerve.

“What?”

“Yeah, you heard,” she said, smiling at the terror she'd glimpsed in his eyes. _Got him,_ she thought. “We killed everyone. You're the only one left. And if you don't tell us everything you know, then we'll leave you tied to that chair and burn this place down around you on our way out. Is that what you want? Because that was what happened to the leader of the Institute when he tried to fuck with me. You heard about the Institute, right? You want to end up like those guys?”

Ryder shook his head frantically. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead.

“No?” said Margot. She glowered at him. “Then talk, asshole! Where's this Captain of yours? And where's the AntAgonizer?”

“Captain Wes flew over to Quincy to check on our operations there,” said Ryder. He was sweating more heavily, and trying to struggle his way out of the chair. “He was supposed to be back by now. Look, that's all I know – now let me out of here!”

“I'm not done with you, soldier,” said Margot, eyes narrowing. “So you bastards want our Vertibirds? Why? Does Captain Wes want flying lessons, or is this the AntAgonizer's big idea? Is she interested in flying ants as well as ones that breathe fire?”

Ryder shook his head.

“No, that was all the Captain's idea. He wanted his own fleet so we could expand our operations. The AntAgonizer just wants to see the Brotherhood destroyed. She doesn't care what happens to their tech once they're dead and gone.”

“Why does she want the Brotherhood to be destroyed?” Danse wanted to know. “Who is she? What does she want with the Commonwealth?”

Ryder shrugged.

“Fuck if I know, buddy. She didn't tell us her real name. She just showed up one day with a sack of caps and said she wanted us to keep an eye on some old television station. Seemed like easy money, so we figured hey, why not? She left some of her pet ants behind, said she wanted them to keep an eye out for her too. Crazy bitch, but she was paying us for the trouble, so we didn't ask questions...”

Margot withdrew her combat knife and started toying with it, running her gloved finger along the edge of the blade.

“What's her beef with the Brotherhood?” she said, more menacingly.

“Like I said, we didn't ask!” burst out Ryder. “She didn't tell us, and Captain Wes said it was none of our damn business. We don't like the Brotherhood either! All we want is their gear, and maybe that fancy blimp of theirs! Look - all I know is that she's paying us to operate and maintain this base. She shows up every once in a while to record a new message, tells us when and how to broadcast the holotapes, and then she leaves again. I don't know where she goes!”

“Where's her base?”

“I already said I don't _know!_ ” Ryder whined. “She's supposed to be some sort of ant queen, right? Probably some fucking hole in the ground! Now let me out of here!”

Margot turned to Danse.

“Think he's telling the truth? Or do you think we should work him over a little, just to make sure?”

Danse shook his head.

“If you think he's lying, Paladin, then by all means continue questioning him. But he appears to have taken his share of physical punishment already, and you're very fortunate that I'm not going to report that to Elder Maxson. I have no idea what happened to him before I got here, and I don't _want_ to know. If you weren't in charge of this operation - ”

“I appreciate your discretion in this matter,” Margot replied, cutting him off. “Now what do you think? Is he telling the truth?”

“Yes!” said Ryder desperately. “Look, that's all I know! I swear! Even Captain Wes doesn't know any more than I do!”

Margot's lip curled in a sneer.

“Then he's as useless as you are. All right, Knight-Captain, I think I've heard enough. We're leaving. I suggest we report back to base and tell them we've captured a nice new television station for the Brotherhood of Steel. The Scribes are going to have a field day when they see all this equipment.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Danse said, saluting. “What about the prisoner?”

Margot glanced at Ryder.

“What about him?”

“Are we going to leave him tied up like that?”

Margot shrugged.

“Why not? Leave him for the AntAgonizer to find.”

She turned to walk away, then added, over her shoulder:

“Say, Ryder. Make yourself useful for once in your miserable life and give your boss a message when she shows up, will you? Tell her that the General of the Minutemen has heard about what happened to the Brotherhood prisoners, and how the AntAgonizer turned a blind eye to their mistreatment, and she is _extremely_ pissed off. Tell her that the Brotherhood of Steel is even more pissed, and that they're coming for her. And tell her one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Tell her that you got beat up by a pair of girls and that one guy with a laser rifle tore through half a building's worth of your buddies all on his own,” said Margot, with a faint smile. “I'm sure she'll be _very_ impressed that she's paying you guys to suck so hard at your job.”

The chair Ryder was sitting in started to rock angrily back and forth. As he struggled to get free, it toppled over again; he gave an indignant cry and started to bellow insults, casting aspersions on Margot's virtue, Danse's parentage, and the bedroom habits of the entirety of the Brotherhood of Steel.

“Tell it to someone who gives a fuck,” retorted Margot.

She snatched up the copy of _Guns & Bullets _which Ellens had left behind, then spotted something on the newsreader's desk – a Vault Boy bobblehead. Her face lit up.

“Ooh, Small Guns! I haven't got this one!” she said, delighted, and went back to pick it up. “You're coming home with me!”

“Hey, that's mine!” objected the prone Gunner. “I found that thing fair and square!”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law. That's what we used to say, back in the old days,” said Margot sweetly. “Goodbye, Ryder. Be sure to pass on the Brotherhood's best wishes to the AntAgonizer, and tell her we'll be seeing her soon. Very soon. That is, if the Minutemen don't get to her first. Try not to die of starvation in the meantime, okay?”

“What?” Ryder yelled, as they filed out of the room. “No! You can't just leave me here! Get back here and – and – _let me out, you fucking bitch!_ ”

Margot gave him a mocking little wave and closed the door on his protests.

“Well, now that the gang's all here, I suggest we get out of this hellhole,” she told the rest of her team, as the yelling on the other side of the doors grew louder and more umbrageous. “It's a long way back to the _Prydwen,_ but I'm hoping we can call for a Vertibird once the sun comes up. Hey, Belasco, how are you holding up?”

There was no answer from the man slumped over Danse's back. He was unconscious; Ellens felt anxiously at his wrist for a pulse, then sighed.

“He's okay. Well... he's _not_... but he's alive,” she reported.

“Glad to hear it,” said Margot. “All right, good work, people. Let's move out.”

*

The sky was beginning to lighten as they stepped outside. Ellens breathed in the cold morning air gratefully.

“I'd just about given up all hope of ever seeing the outside world again,” she remarked, looking out toward the east and the faint smudge of light blue on the horizon. “I honestly thought I was going to die in there.”

“But you survived,” Margot reminded her. “You made it out of there. You were stronger than them.”

“You should be proud of yourself, soldier,” Danse agreed. He set Belasco down on the ground, propping his duffle bag beneath the unconscious man's head as a makeshift pillow. “Paladin de Havilland is right. You were forged in Steel, sister, and I'm honored to serve with you.”

Ellens' pallid cheeks took on a pinker color.

“Thank you, sir,” she said humbly. “And you, ma'am. You saved our lives. Belasco and I... we won't forget this, either of us.”

There was a groan from the floor as Belasco started to stir. Ellen's eyes opened wide and she rushed to him, kneeling beside him and grabbing his hand.

“Belasco! Are you all right?”

“I'm sorry, Ellens,” he whispered up to her. “I couldn't protect you – I'm so sorry. But I remembered what you and Knight-Commander Elgin told me. About not talking to the enemy. I didn't tell them anything, I promise...”

“I know you didn't,” Ellens told him. She was trying to smile. “I think you might be the bravest man I've ever met. When we get back to the _Prydwen_ , remind me to buy you a drink.”

Belasco gave her a feeble grin.

“I don't think there's enough alcohol in the world, ma'am. But you're welcome to try.”

Ellens made a soft sound which might have been a chuckle. She was still clutching his hand; something in her eyes reminded Margot of the way she and Danse had held each other on the flight deck of the _Prydwen_. Faced with certain death, their only thought had been to stay close and protect each other from harm. Ellens and Belasco had been kept separated, but in spite of the distance between them, they clearly hadn't been far from each other's thoughts.

 _Semper fidelis_ , she thought. _They didn't let go. I wonder if Danse and I could have endured what they went through. I think Danse would have been strong enough to survive it, but me... I honestly don't know. Would I have stayed strong, or broken?_

Margot stepped out into the courtyard and threw down a Vertibird signal grenade. Crimson smoke soared in the pre-dawn light, mingling with the low clouds and the first tendrils of morning fog. She looked back and saw that the others were smiling. It had been a long night, and the prospect of going home at last was a welcome one.

Danse took off his sunglasses and peered into the lightening eastern sky.

“Incoming Vertibird,” he announced. He replaced his eyewear. “Excellent. We'll be home in no time.”

Ellens squinted into the band of light creeping up over the horizon. The sound of rotors was growing louder.

“Uh, sir?” she said cautiously. “I... I don't think that's a friendly 'bird. Look at those markings.”

Danse looked again, closer this time. He cursed quietly. Ellens was right; the Vertibird had been repainted, daubed clumsily with olive-drab paint and the white skull symbol of the Gunners.

“Damn it! Ellens, take Belasco and get him inside! Find a defensive position - if they get inside, show no mercy! They're not taking us alive!”

Ellens didn't hesitate; she hauled Belasco to his feet and shouldered some of his weight, helping him to limp back inside the building. That left Danse and Margot staring up at the inbound Vertibird. As it drew closer, they took cover, hiding behind the veranda and a pair of blue Pulowski Preservation Shelters.

The Vertibird entered its landing pattern and set down, a little roughly, on the weathered black asphalt of the road. Three figures got out – two from the cockpit, and one from the back. The man who'd been sitting in the pilot's seat was shirtless and muscular beneath leather armor. Dark purplish war paint covered his face; a stripe of black hair ran down his shaved head, and he had a mustache to match. Margot noted the tattoo on his forehead which denoted his blood type.

 _That must be Captain Wes_ , it occurred to her. Cruz and Ryder had muttered something about expecting him back soon, and now here was the leader of the Gunners, accompanied by two low-ranking goons.

“Hey,” she hissed to Danse. “I think that's their leader. I say we kill them all and take their Vertibird back to base.”

“Excellent suggestion, Paladin. I concur. We going in weapons hot?”

“You're damn right we are. After what they did to Squad Minerva... fuck 'em. They're dead.”

“Outstanding.”

Danse picked up _Margot's Kiss_ and jumped out from behind his cover.

“For the Brotherhood!” he declared, and opened fire. Margot joined in gladly, firing off a few rounds in Captain Wes' direction and watching his companions run for the barricades.

“Die, you bastards!” she yelled.

It was a short firefight. Danse picked off the two Gunner Corporals with ease, reducing one of them to a pathetic heap of ashes and sending the other flying backward into the undergrowth with a laser burn on his forehead. Captain Wes attempted to run back for the Vertibird, but a well-timed bullet from _Nate's Revenge_ caught him in the back and brought him, groaning, to the ground.

“He's bleeding out,” Margot reported, as she went over to the dying man and disarmed him, kicking the assault rifle away from his hand and flipping him over with her foot.

“You know we don't leave dying enemies to suffer, Margot,” Danse reminded her. “Finish him.”

Margot smiled grimly.

“With pleasure.”

She fired down at the tattoo on the Gunner Captain's forehead and heard a gasp as he expired.

“We're clear,” she called out to Danse. “Get Ellens and Belasco on board and prepare for dustoff. You still remember how to fly this thing, right?”

Danse nodded.

“I'll be right back.”

Margot watched as he rushed back into the building, then turned to the Vertibird. It was an inelegant paint job. Beneath it, she could still see the outlines of the Brotherhood of Steel's emblem, and the name _Sabina._ Her fingers traced its half-obscured motto: “ _Intaminatis Fulget Honoribus”._

“ _Untarnished, she shines with honor,”_  she said out loud. She could almost hear her mother translating the Latin from Horace's _Odes_ , the way she had before RobCo had taken her from the classroom and taught her how to make computers speak to each other.

Danse returned, with Ellens and Belasco in tow. He helped the two younger soldiers board the aircraft, then bundled his duffle bag in after them.

“Don't know about you, Paladin, but I think it's time we headed home,” he said, closing the door. He opened the pilot's side door and climbed into the Vertibird; Margot ran around to the other side and got into the copilot's seat.

“Couldn't agree more,” she said.

She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of Danse flipping switches. A moment later, she felt the ground drop away; she opened her eyes and saw the Commonwealth, damp and dark, but with a new dawn rapidly approaching. Soon the sky would be light blue again and sunny; soon, they would be standing on the _Prydwen_ and the darkness they'd fought through tonight would be nothing but an unpleasant memory.

_We made it out alive. We're going home._

With a roar of triumph, the _Sabina_ flew into the early morning light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this one really took a turn for the dark while I was writing it. Hope it hasn't put anybody off. Survivor guilt and recovering from the trauma of past events are recurring themes in this story, and Danse and Margot will be dealing with the aftermath of both this and their own traumatic experiences as they try to help their younger comrades through this. I grew quite fond of Ellens and Belasco while writing this story, so they're going to make further appearances in later chapters. Don't worry, I have happier things planned for them eventually.
> 
> The Gunners in this story are rather more unpleasant than the in-game versions, but I thought it was a slightly more realistic and accurate treatment of a ruthless mercenary faction. While they supposedly pride themselves on loyalty and discipline, they also massacred the inhabitants of Quincy without any sign of remorse and for no reason I can determine, which frankly didn't sound very damn disciplined to me. Former Gunner MacCready also describes them in-game as "animals", and considering all the horrible stuff he must have seen in the Capital Wasteland (slavery, torture, Super Mutant camps), I figured it would take quite a lot to shock the guy. I also found it interesting that the Gunners are tattooed with their blood types - a practice also adopted by the notorious SS unit in Nazi Germany (albeit on the arm, rather than the forehead) - and decided that that spoke volumes about the kind of people they were.
> 
> More Vertibird notes - The Sabina is named after a type of small sword from the post-Classical period, which was used in daily life. Her motto is, as stated, from Horace's "Odes", although exact translations seem to vary depending on who you ask (that's Latin for you). The Glaive, Hasta and Pugio adopt the same kind of naming conventions I've used throughout the story (a European polearm weapon, an early Roman spear, and Roman legionary's dagger respectively), although Team X-Ray's Vertibird, the Hoplon, takes its name from a type of wooden shield used by hoplite units in Ancient Greece, notably Athens and Sparta.


	14. Return To Base

It had been ten minutes since takeoff. The sun was beginning to rise in earnest, and the clouds were fleeing before its rays, clearing a path for the new day. The touch of sunlight on Margot's face was warm and gentle; it seemed to clear away the troubled thoughts and the nightmares she'd uncovered in the early hours of the morning.

 _After the darkness, the dawn_ , she thought. _The monsters crawl back under the bed and hide from the light, but their power over us is gone, and the next time they try to come out again, we'll be waiting. Not afraid, but ready._

She glanced back into the Vertibird.

“You guys okay?”

There was no answer. Ellens and Belasco were huddled in the back of the Vertibird's cabin, either passed out or simply asleep. They were still holding onto each other; Ellens was sitting up against the wall with her younger comrade cradled in her arms. They both looked utterly exhausted.

 _Safe now,_ she thought, relieved. _Poor kids. They've been dragged through a living hell. But_ w _e're bringing them back home, where they belong. I just hope there's some way they can recover from what they've been through..._

She took off her sunglasses and looked across at Danse. Now that he was sitting in a sea of clouds and surrounded by peaceful blue sky, it was as if the pain was being slowly washed away. He was going home too. Bringing back the long-lost _Sabina_ and the surviving members of Recon Squad Minerva would only magnify the triumph of his return to the Brotherhood of Steel. Things were looking up.

It was a shame about the AntAgonizer, she thought, her smile slowly fading. After all that they'd been through, she hadn't even been on the premises. They had nothing – no name, no motive, and no base of operations. If it hadn't been for their chance discovery of the missing Brotherhood members and their successful recapture of the _Sabina_ , the whole mission would have been a disastrous waste of time.

“Penny for your thoughts?” said Danse, beside her.

“I didn't realize pennies were still in circulation,” Margot replied, half-jokingly. “Hyperinflation rendered them practically worthless before the war. The last ones probably got thrown off the _Prydwen_ by a bunch of bored Initiates. I'll have to check the beach and see if I can find some in the sand.”

“Just don't go down there in Power Armor. It'll take hours for me to dig you out,” said Danse, although there was something in his smile which didn't quite ring true.

Margot laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You all right, Danse?”

Danse looked at her. She should never have been compelled to walk into that pit of suffering and despair, he thought. In places like those, it was all too easy to let the darkness you encountered seep into the soul. He'd been horrified by that glimpse of savagery in her eyes back at the studio as she tormented that mercenary - and yet, after what had happened to the members of Recon Squad Minerva, he couldn't really blame her for wanting to make the man suffer. He'd wanted to as well.

He was ashamed of that sudden, irrational surge of anger. He was Steel, and he knew better than to let his emotions get the better of him; unlike Raiders and Gunners, he knew the meaning of discipline and self-control. But the way Ryder had leered at Margot and made that indecent suggestion had brought his blood to an instant boil - even now, the thought of that depraved creature ever laying hands on his sweetheart made something crawl hideously under his skin.

Margot was still looking at him for an answer, he realized. She wanted to know that he was all right. He wanted to burst out that no, he wasn't – that he was starting to feel old and tired, ground down by years of war and human suffering; that there would be a whole host of new nightmares tonight; that he was beginning to wonder if coming back to the Brotherhood was a mistake, and if he was even fit to serve after having entertained thoughts of murder and violent revenge. He'd growled out a threat to that Gunner because it had been preferable to succumbing to the rising tide of blood-red rage, snatching up the baseball bat from the desk and smashing it into the man's skull until blood spattered every wall and there was no strength left in his arms. It would have been so easy – too easy – to let go of that last little piece of his humanity. For a moment, he'd wanted to. That was what frightened him most of all.

 _I can't let go,_ he thought. _If I do, I'll lose everything. Synth or man, it won't matter any more - Maxson will call me an abomination either way, and this time he'll be right. I have to prove him wrong and hold onto the humanity Margot saw in me. No matter what happens, I can't let go. I don't dare._

At last, he mumbled:

“Belasco told me what happened to Ellens.”

“She told me too,” said Margot, more reluctantly. Her eyes grew dark and troubled. “That poor girl. I can't imagine anything worse than what she went through.”

“I will never let that happen to you,” said Danse suddenly, looking at her. “Never. They'd have to take me apart the same way the Institute put me together – muscle by muscle, bone by bone – before I'd let anyone hurt you the way they hurt our sister in Steel. Ellens is a good soldier. A good person. What they did to her was - ”

“I know,” she said sympathetically, and reached for his hand. “I know.”

As his fingers tightened around hers, Danse felt himself choke up with dread at the thought of ever finding Margot in such a state. He'd seen the bruises on Ellen's face, and the tears drying in her eyes even as she'd vowed to keep fighting, because she was Steel and would never break. He'd seen Belasco's hands, and the way the young Knight had sobbed like a child on the floor, his spirit broken in an instant. And those were two ordinary Brotherhood soldiers; a young man and woman who had probably never even fired a shot at a Gunner base before they were taken prisoner. What the mercenaries would have done to their nemesis, the General of the Minutemen...

He closed his eyes against the thought. It was too horrible to contemplate. It made him want to hide away with Margot in their quarters on the _Prydwen_ , beneath the blankets on the bed, and hold her close to him until the dawn came around again.

“Belasco volunteered himself for execution if they promised to let Ellens go,” he said, almost in a murmur. The memory was still haunting him. “He was willing to sacrifice his own life in exchange for her freedom - an act of true courage and selflessness, the kind that you rarely see in the wasteland. And those despicable cowards just laughed in his face and said they were going to feed him to the ants.”

Something in Margot's face grew cold and hard.

“Those sons of bitches. Maybe I should have let Ellens finish what she started.”

Danse felt his brow furl into a frown.

“What do you mean?”

“When we were interrogating Ryder, she found a baseball bat under one of the bunks. I wasn't as quick to intervene as I should have been,” said Margot. She lowered her eyes shamefully. “Truth is... I kind of let her do it. I figured she deserved some retribution after what she'd been through. But then I thought of you, and what you'd say if you saw her doing that, so I ordered her to stop. I told her that we don't torture people in the Brotherhood and that she was better than that.”

Danse looked at her with renewed admiration, and not a little relief. There had been some light in the darkness after all.

“Good,” he said. “I'm glad you intervened. That was the right thing to do.”

“Yeah, right up until I kicked over the bastard's chair in the Minutemen's name instead and threatened to rough him up for information,” Margot confessed, cringing. “Ellens probably thinks that you let me get away with that kind of behavior under your command, and that's not true. I'm sorry, Danse. I should have kept my cool and conducted myself with more dignity, the way you taught me. I let you down back there, didn't I?”

“Well, I'd be lying if I said I was entirely satisfied with how that interrogation was conducted,” said Danse, disappointed anew. He sighed. “But I know that we sometimes fall short of the high standards we expect of ourselves. If you're truly ashamed of how you behaved, then I suggest that you take that as a cue to improve your behavior and exert more self-control in future. I understand that in situations like those, emotions can run high and it's easy to get carried away. But you have to remember your training, soldier. You can't allow anger to cloud your judgment.”

Margot nodded.

“Understood. Although I have to admit, I was kind of impressed that you threatened to rip the guy's balls off over a mere indecent proposal. Unless I skipped a chapter or two in the Codex, I don't think that was a Brotherhood-approved interrogation technique.”

Danse flushed and looked down at the Vertibird's dashboard.

“That was a regrettable lapse on my part,” he admitted. “I can hardly lecture you on your conduct when my own behavior was less than exemplary. After all the years I've been doing this, I should know better than to let a despicable creature like that get under my skin. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, Danse,” said Margot. She smiled and gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You and I still make a hell of a team - and after you threatened to emasculate one of my enemies in order to defend my honor, I think I could forgive you just about anything. Who says chivalry is dead?”

Danse scowled.

“While I'm aware that what I said was inappropriate, his suggestion was both disrespectful and disgusting. Women are not property, to be passed around at will like a bottle of whiskey, and I will not permit anyone to speak of one of my sisters in Steel in that manner. And I will _not_ tolerate any affronts to the honor of my Paladin.”

“ _Your_ Paladin?” Margot said, giggling. “So I'm yours now?”

Danse felt his mouth open. Once again, he found himself at a loss for words, and cursed himself for his verbal ineptitude. The power of speech always seemed to abandon him at just the wrong moment.

“I – um... well, I was hoping you would be,” he said, with a sheepish look across at her. His hand dragged across the back of his neck. “Would – would that be all right?”

A smile spread like the sunrise across Margot's face.

“It would,” she said, her voice soft and quiet. “As a matter of fact, I'm glad you asked. There's nobody I'd rather be than Paladin Danse's girl.”

“I'm not a Paladin any more,” said Danse, with a small sigh. “You know that.”

“You'll always be Paladin Danse to me,” Margot said firmly. “And if Elder Maxson doesn't like it, then he'll just have to hurry up and promote you again. Bringing the _Sabina_ and her crew home is already a step in the right direction. Give it time. Pretty soon I'll be able to call you Paladin Danse again for real.”

Danse nodded.

“So, uh... Margot?” he said, after a few moments. “Does this mean that we're going steady?”

Margot guffawed.

“Going steady? Danse, my _parents_ used to say things like that!”

“Oh,” said Danse, feeling shame creep across his cheeks. “I'm sorry. Was that wrong?”

Margot stopped, mid-laugh, when she saw the look on his face; her mirth fell away at the sight of his embarrassment and consternation. She let a gentler smile take its place. He was sweet, she thought. He picked up all these romantic little notions from the old world and carried them around in his head, blissfully unaware of how endearing she found his desire to keep them alive in a world which had long since forgotten about things like holding the door open for a lady, or offering to carry her bags, or – well, going steady.

“No, it's not wrong,” she said, still smiling. “I suppose we're going about as steady as anyone can nowadays. So I guess that makes us boyfriend and girlfriend now, huh? Wow. I haven't been someone's girlfriend for over two hundred years. I feel like a teenager again. Hope Maxson doesn't yell at us for missing curfew.”

“I've never had a girlfriend before,” said Danse wistfully. “It's a nice feeling, but... it's strange. I've been alone for so long, I don't even know how to act around you.”

“You don't have to _act_ around me at all,” Margot told him. “I love you just the way you are, my big, sweet, handsome Paladin.”

Danse threw a panicky look over his shoulder as she kissed him on the cheek.

“Shh!” he urged her. “Not in front of Ellens and Belasco!”

Margot just smiled.

“Don't worry, they're both out of it,” she said. “Fast asleep. You could yell that there was a Deathclaw on board and they wouldn't be any the wiser.”

Danse relaxed slightly in his seat.

“Well, if you're sure... permission to speak freely?”

“Permission granted.”

“I love you too, Margot,” he said, a little more quietly. “I really do. And I'm glad you're here with me. I know we witnessed some dreadful things on this mission, but no matter what we run into out there, I feel better knowing that I don't have to face it alone. With you standing by me, I feel like I can take on the world.”

“I feel like we just did,” said Margot. She groaned, stretched out her arms and legs, and settled back into her seat. “Ugh, I can't wait to get back to the _Prydwen_. I need some real sleep.”

She looked down at the clouds sailing beneath them, and the scorched fields and abandoned buildings of the Commonwealth, punctuated every now and then by the settlements which Preston had so painstakingly marked on her map. Dots on the road below were moving caravans, traders and their pack Brahmin; small signs of life and hope in the wastes.

And then she looked up again through the windshield. At long last, the _Prydwen_ lay ahead; a symphony in steel, shining in the early sunlight.

“She's a welcome sight, isn't she?” Danse remarked cheerfully.

“Is she ever. I hope there's coffee.”

“If there isn't, I think I'll make you some myself,” said Danse. “If it weren't for you, our brother and sister would still be languishing in enemy captivity.”

“If it weren't for me,” said Margot, her wry amusement already dying in her eyes, “Tresler would be taking us home right now. But he isn't. He's dead, Danse. This mission should have gone smoothly and it turned into a complete mess. I'm no good at this.”

“Margot, don't,” Danse told her. “You did well back there. You neutralized those turrets, killed several Gunners and safely extracted Knight-Sergeant Ellens from captivity. I know you're disappointed that we didn't take down the AntAgonizer, but when you finally got that uncooperative mercenary to talk, we were able to establish that she had the Gunners in her employ and that she was connected to that location, just as you suspected. When the Brotherhood assumes control of the facility and puts a stop to her broadcasts, she'll have to find another way to get her message across. Which means she'll have to surface at some point. When she does, we'll be waiting, and then she and her wretched ants will know the true fury of Steel.”

Margot looked at him suspiciously.

“You're trying to make me feel better, aren't you?”

“Of course. Is it working?”

A smile played across her lips.

“Maybe...”

That got a little grin out of Danse.

“Mission accomplished.”

Margot laughed at that, and looked down at her Pip-Boy, scrolling back to her mission objectives. She updated them silently, marking the mission as completed, and noting that while the AntAgonizer had been nowhere to be found, she'd rescued the Brotherhood captives and that they now needed to report to Elder Maxson.

When she looked up again, Danse had returned his attention to the sky and the rapidly-growing shape of the _Prydwen_ on the hazy blue horizon. To her astonishment, he was singing softly under his breath – Dean Martin's “Volare”, a song she'd never known he knew. It had been one of her father's favorites.

 _Dad would have liked Danse_ , she decided. He'd liked Nate too, of course, but he would have enjoyed having a son-in-law who'd actually shared his enthusiasm for flying instead of treating it as a necessary evil. Persuading Nate to get back on a plane after their trip to Hawaii had been a Herculean feat after the turbulence they'd run into on the outbound flight; he'd been profoundly airsick and had declared miserably that he never wanted to fly again.

A small speck in the sky became the outline of another Vertibird; it was approaching them, backlit by the rising sun, gliding toward them with the suspicious grace and menace of a Boston Common swan boat.

“ _Unidentified aircraft, you are approaching Brotherhood of Steel airspace,”_ announced a curt female voice through the cockpit's radio. _“This area is off-limits to non-Brotherhood personnel without the express permission of Elder Maxson. Please state your name and intentions.”_

“This is Vertibird designation F9-54 Bravo Juliet,” replied Danse, although he looked startled. “Knight-Captain Danse reporting in. Requesting permission to land at Boston Airport.”

“ _Denied,”_ said the voice, with more bite. _“There is nobody by that name currently enlisted in the Brotherhood of Steel, and Vertibird unit Bravo Juliet is listed as MIA. Identify yourself immediately or be destroyed - this is your final warning!”_

“Repeat, this is Vertibird designation F9-54 Bravo Juliet, the _Sabina!_ ” Danse said, more urgently. “My name is Stuart Danse, former registration DN-407P, and I am reporting to re-enlist with the Brotherhood of Steel, in accordance with Elder Maxson's instructions. My rank upon re-enlistment will be Knight-Captain. Paladin de Havilland is accompanying me as my sponsor and she can provide verification of my identity.”

“Confirmed, Vertibird unit, this is Paladin Margot de Havilland, registration number HV-111P,” Margot chimed in. “The _Sabina_ was ambushed by a group of Gunners some months ago. We were able to retrieve her from their base, although not without incident. You'll have to excuse the crappy paint job. We're hoping it'll wash off the next time it rains.”

There was a muffled chuckle on the other end of the radio.

“ _Verification confirmed. That has to be you, de Havilland. Nobody else would have the nerve to show up in Brotherhood territory in an aircraft marked with the Gunners' insignia and piloted by the same damn synth who stole Excalibur...”_

“Please identify yourself, Vertibird unit,” said Danse, rather more sharply this time.

“ _This is Lancer-Captain Sewell of the Sagitta, Vertibird designation S1-42 India Golf,”_ the other pilot replied. _“You know you almost got me shot after you left, Danse? They accused me of aiding and abetting your escape by assisting you in returning Excalibur to the Prydwen. I hope you're aware that you cost me the remainder of my shore leave and any prospect of a promotion for the next five years, you synthetic bastard.”_

“Please accept my apologies, Captain Sewell. It was not my intention to get you involved.”

“ _Yeah, well, you did. Now where's_ _Durendal, and why the hell are you flying the Sabina? Where's Lancer-Captain Corwin?”_

“ _Durendal_ was shot down by an enemy sniper. They took out Tresler while we were preparing for evac. Corwin didn't make it either. The Gunners killed him at some point after the ambush.”

“ _Shit. Is that why you're flying that thing? Where are Ellens and Belasco?”_

“On board. They're in priority need of medical assistance. Requesting permission to land so that they can disembark and be treated for their injuries.”

“ _Copy that, Bravo Juliet. You are cleared for entry to Brotherhood airspace. Please request formal permission to land from Airport Control and follow their landing instructions. We'll have medics standing by to treat Ellens and Belasco when you land.”_

“Roger that, India Golf. Thank you.”

“ _Acknowledged. Go ahead and land that thing so we can get it in for repairs and wash that Gunner crap off the side. I'll take you and the Paladin up to the Prydwen, so you can report to Elder Maxson. See you on the ground.”_

“Copy. Over and out. Airport Control, this is Pal- uh, Knight-Capt- damn it, this is Danse! Did you copy any of that?”

“ _Airport Control here,”_ responded a male voice. _“We heard everything. Welcome home, Danse. Please proceed immediately to the landing pad next to the departure terminal. A medical team is on standby and waiting to treat Knight-Sergeant Ellens and Knight Belasco. What is their current condition?”_

“Poor, I'm afraid,” said Danse, with a grimace. “They've suffered months of physical and psychological abuse and they both appear to be malnourished. Knight Belasco was too weak to remain mobile. I had to carry him out of there.”

“ _We'll alert Knight-Captain Cade immediately and get him down here. Thank you for bringing them home. We'll make sure they get whatever treatment they need. Are you and Paladin de Havilland okay?”_

“No injuries to report. I think we'll be all right.”

“ _Good to hear. You and the Paladin did a great job out there. Steel be with you, brother.”_

Danse felt his eyes fill up with tears. It had been much too long since he'd heard those words.

“You too, brother. _Ad victoriam._ Over and out.”

He blinked, glad that the sunglasses hid his watering eyes from Margot's view, and ended the transmission.

“I'm proud of you,” said Margot unexpectedly, as he piloted the Vertibird toward the landing pad and nudged it into a gradual descent.

“Why?”

“I just am.”

She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek while they were still above the roof of the control tower, safely out of sight.

“Last one for a while, I'm afraid,” she told him, with a hint of regret. “We've got work to do.”

“I know,” said Danse. “I can wait.”

But as he looked down at the ground, and then up at the _Prydwen_ , he couldn't help wondering how long it would be before he could find some safe and private place where he could hold onto her and shower her with glad, grateful kisses.

 _Some things are worth waiting for,_ he reminded himself. _Like coming home to my brothers and sisters. Like a beer after a long day. Like getting back in my Power Armor after hours of maintenance. Like -_

 _Margot_ , some quiet inner urge prompted. _You can't wait to kiss her again._

He sighed, and wondered how and when Margot had succeeded in eclipsing everything else in importance. She'd come crashing into his life one day like some sort of rogue planet, completely disrupting the neat and careful order of his existence, and then he'd unwittingly embraced the chaos by inviting her to join the Brotherhood of Steel, never suspecting that she would soon become the center of his universe. Now she was his whole world, as permanent a fixture as any of the stars in the sky; like an asteroid in thrall to gravity, he followed her wherever she went, hopelessly attracted and unable to tear himself away from her side.

_I'm not sure which of us is the more crazy, me for loving her, or her for loving me, but somehow it all makes sense when she's around. If this barely-contained insanity is what it feels like to be in love, then I hope it never ends..._

*

No sooner had the _Sabina_ set down on the landing pad than a Field Scribe came running over, breathlessly relaying a message.

“Message from Knight-Captain Cade, ma'am! He says don't bother taking Ellens and Belasco to the ground infirmary – he wants them in the _Prydwen_ sick bay immediately.”

Margot rolled her eyes.

“Fine. Get them on board the _Sagitta._ We're heading straight up. On the double, please, Scribe.”

“Yes, ma'am!”

Minutes later, sleepy-eyed Ellens and Belasco had been bundled into the back of the _Sagitta_ , along with their kit, and Danse and Margot found themselves sitting behind the pilot, Lancer-Captain Sewell.

“Long time no see, Danse,” she remarked, as they took off. “Welcome back. For what it's worth, I don't really care if you're a synth or not. It's not like there's an Institute left to worry about anyway. Frankly, I'm more worried about the damn mutants. Greenskin with a missile launcher almost took out the _Pilum_ yesterday.”

“Is Lancer-Initiate Young okay?” said Danse immediately.

“Yeah, he's fine. Pissed off, though. He's grounded for a week while they check out his 'bird for damage. You know that kid, he loves to fly.”

“Don't we all?”

“Hah, yeah. Prydwen Command, this is Lancer-Captain Sewell, Vertibird designation S1-42 India Golf, requesting permission to dock.”

“ _Permission granted, Captain. Welcome back. Please proceed to Dock Three.”_

Margot looked up at the _Prydwen_ as it filled their immediate airspace. Over her shoulder, she heard Belasco stir from his sleep with a faint whimper.

“It's okay, Belasco,” Ellens told him, stroking his hair. “Just a few more minutes, and we'll be home.”

Ninety seconds later, they drew level with the _Prydwen_ and docked. Margot looked out through the window and saw Knight-Captain Cade and a couple of Knights with stretchers standing by on the flight deck. As the doors opened, he helped out Ellens, then caught Belasco as he stumbled and fell out of the Vertibird.

“Easy there, son,” Knight-Captain Cade said kindly. “It's all right, we'll get you inside. McClellan? Donaghue? Give me a hand with this one, would you?”

Knights McClellan and Donaghue always seemed to be hauling bodies around, Margot reflected, as she saw them approach. The last time she'd seen them, they'd been dispatched to haul Knight Payne's corpse back inside the _Prydwen_. She looked down at the spot on the deck where the former Paragon of Steel had fallen, but the metal surface bore no trace of blood. She wondered how many hours and Deck Scribes it had taken to scrub the stain away.

She watched as they carried Belasco away on a stretcher; Ellens and Knight-Captain Cade were walking alongside him, speaking in tones of soft reassurance. The other two Knights – Alonzo and Caldwell, the ones who had escorted her through the _Prydwen_ as the Minutemen's General - carried the empty stretcher away.

“Are they going to be okay?” she found herself saying faintly.

“They're in good hands here, don't worry,” Danse told her, patting her on the shoulder. “Come on. We'd better find Elder Maxson and report in. I have a feeling he's not going to be entirely happy with us, but he needs to know what happened out there...”

*

The sound of righteous authority echoed around the command deck.

“ _What?_ What do you mean, you lost your Vertibird? _”_

Margot flinched.

“I'm sorry, sir,” she said, in a small voice. “I'm afraid _Durendal_ was destroyed in the crash. We were unable to recover Lancer-Sergeant Tresler's body from the wreckage due to the intensity of the flames. Hopefully the search-and-rescue team will have better luck.”

Elder Maxson sighed heavily, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Please at least tell me you found the AntAgonizer,” he said, with growing impatience.

“I'm afraid not, sir,” Margot said meekly. “We were able to capture and interrogate one of the Gunners she employed to protect the place. I was hoping that it might turn out to be a permanent base of operations for her, but apparently not. It seems that she turns up periodically with holotapes to broadcast, and then disappears again. They have no idea where she goes. Well, _had_. They're all dead except that one guy. He's probably still sitting there, tied to a chair and yelling his head off. On the plus side, sir, we now have a television station to hand over to the Brotherhood.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to do with a television station?” Elder Maxson demanded to know, at a slightly higher volume.

“Well, it could be good for morale, sir,” Danse supplied. “Like Galaxy News Radio, back in the Capital Wasteland. And if we could get some of the old Pre-War military propaganda back on the air, with a few appropriate updates, it could potentially be a useful tool for recruitment. I know the locals enjoy the programming – it might bring in some new Initiates for us.”

“That's all very well and good, Danse, but I don't have _time_ for this!” snapped Maxson. “The Commonwealth is awash with mutants and mercenaries, we still have the Institute Remnants and renegade synths to worry about, and now there's a would-be supervillain running around threatening to destroy everything and everyone in sight with giant, fire-breathing ants! On top of that, I'm supposed to be getting married in a month!”

“Scribe Harper said yes then, sir?” said Danse politely.

“The official proposal took place last night,” said Elder Maxson. “According to tradition, I'm supposed to have an answer by tomorrow morning. I'll know soon enough.”

He sighed, and picked up the coffee pot from the hot plate sitting on the table. He poured himself a cup and turned to face the window of the command deck.

“She seems like a nice young woman,” he said, with a smaller sigh. “I hope she decides to stay. It'd be nice not to have to face all this alone... but we'll see.”

He took a sip of his coffee.

“So do either of you have any good news for me, or was your trip an unmitigated disaster from start to finish?”

 _Well, Danse and I are officially dating, but I doubt you'd be pleased to hear that,_ Margot wanted to say. Instead, she ventured:

“We brought home the _Sabina_.”

Elder Maxson almost dropped his coffee mug. He turned around, shocked.

“What? The _Sabina?_ She's been missing since January. What happened?”

“She was ambushed at Recon Squad Minerva's drop zone and taken by the Gunners, sir,” said Danse. “Recon Squad Minerva were taken prisoner in the attack. I regret to inform you that Lancer-Captain Corwin was murdered by the Gunners during his imprisonment.”

Margot took the set of holotags from her uniform pocket and placed them on the table with care.

“We brought his tags home, sir,” she said quietly. “We would have brought him home too, but we were concerned about potential biohazards. His body was in an advanced state of decomposition; we may need to send out a recovery team in hazmat suits to retrieve his remains.”

“I see,” said Elder Maxson at last. His expression was grim. “And the others?”

“We found Knight-Sergeant Ellens and Knight Belasco alive, sir. We brought them home. You probably saw them as they came in.”

Maxson looked stunned.

“The man on the stretcher... the female soldier... _they_ were Belasco and Ellens? My God, I didn't even recognize them. What the hell happened to them out there?”

Margot winced.

“I'm not sure you'd want to know, sir.”

“If this is an attempt to spare me from bad news, de Havilland, you needn't do so,” Maxson said shortly. “I've heard more stories of trauma and bloodshed than you've had Nuka-Colas. I'm sure it's nothing I haven't heard before.”

“Knight Belasco was tortured for months on end by the Gunners, who wanted him to hand over the access codes to our radio channels so they could send false distress signals to our Vertibirds and hijack them for their own purposes,” Danse cut in, matter-of-factly. “I'm proud to say that he remained steadfast and refused to tell them anything. If I were still in the position to do so, sir, I would recommend him for promotion to Paladin.”

“You are not, Danse,” Elder Maxson was quick to remind him. “But I will certainly take that into consideration. If what you say is true, then Knight Belasco exhibited extraordinary courage and resilience under harrowing circumstances. He will be rewarded for his valor and his loyalty to the Brotherhood of Steel, of that I can assure you. And Ellens?”

Danse paled.

“I'm afraid Knight-Sergeant Ellens was subjected to equally vicious abuse by her captors, but of a - rather different kind,” he said, more hesitantly. “Perhaps it would be better if Paladin de Havilland were to discuss this with you. She was the one who found her.”

Margot stepped forward.

“Sir, with respect, I really don't want to say this out loud,” she said, glancing at the pair of Paladins standing guard. “I'm afraid this information is of a sensitive nature, and I don't want to cause Knight-Sergeant Ellens any distress by discussing the details of her mistreatment within earshot of other personnel.”

Elder Maxson frowned.

“If you don't feel able to say it out loud, de Havilland, perhaps you should discuss it quietly with me. I assure you it will go no further, unless of course I have to speak to Knight-Captain Cade to discuss a strategy for medical treatment and her future redeployment. Either way, you have my word that the matter will be treated with the utmost sensitivity and care.”

Margot went over and whispered in his ear. Elder Maxson's face grew white, then red. With a bellow of rage, he threw the coffee mug across the room; one of the Paladins ducked as it shattered against a wall, spraying black coffee everywhere.

“Get me Paladin Rex immediately!” he thundered. “Those Gunner bastards - I'll see them burn for this! Each and every one of them! How dare they treat one of our sisters like some sort of - ”

He stopped, mid-rant, to glare at the cowering guards.

“Why are you still here?” he snapped. “I gave you an order, damn it! Go! Move!”

The Paladins both saluted nervously.

“Yes, sir...”

As they hurried away, Elder Maxson began to pace back and forth, silently fuming. It was rare to see such a fiery outburst from him, thought Margot, shocked. Most men's anger burned in them like a raging wildfire, but the wrath of the Brotherhood's Elder was more akin to a biting Arctic wind, or a lethal frost which withered away everything it touched; a cold, restrained fury, kept tightly under wraps by protocol and years of self-discipline. She remembered the ice in Maxson's words and eyes as he'd ordered her to go forth and kill Danse the synth, and the vicious chill of his ire outside Listening Post Bravo. To see the younger man suddenly erupt in a blast of heat and rage, like a long-dormant volcano, was as unexpected as it was frightening. She glanced at Danse, but he looked as uncertain and uncomfortable as she felt, as if this was something he'd never seen before either.

“De Havilland,” Maxson said at last. His voice was flatter now, more subdued. “Danse. Good work on bringing the _Sabina_ and our brother and sister home. I'm glad to hear that your efforts weren't entirely in vain. We'll send out a team to retrieve Tresler and Corwin's bodies so that they can be laid to rest, and then arrange for another team to secure the television station. I only wish we could have put a stop to the AntAgonizer's activities.”

“She won't be able to broadcast from the GNN Plaza once it's in our hands, sir,” Danse pointed out.

The air of gloom settling around Maxson's shoulders seemed to abate slightly.

“No, I suppose not. That's something, at least. No doubt she'll resurface at some point, but for now... well done. I'll debrief Ellens and Belasco personally once they've been treated for their injuries. De Havilland, I'd like to speak with you later about our treaty. The papers are almost ready for signature, if you'd care to review them with me this afternoon.”

Margot sighed. More paperwork, this time in Elder Maxson's company. It wasn't the welcome home she'd been anticipating.

“It would be my pleasure, sir,” she lied.

“Good... good,” said Maxson, in a vague and distracted fashion. “Now, Danse, I understand that you also have official business to take care of. I wasn't expecting either of you back on board this soon, but since you're here, please report to Proctor Quinlan to begin the re-enlistment procedure. You and de Havilland may take the Oath of Fraternity tomorrow.”

Danse saluted.

“Right away, sir.”

“Good. Dismissed, both of you.”

They left the command deck and were about to ascend the ladder to the main deck when the two Paladins returned, with another man clambering down the rungs after them. Margot had always considered her new boyfriend to be a pretty big guy, but the soldier standing in front of her now was an absolute beast of a man, built like Grognak the Barbarian and even taller than Danse. He'd apparently come straight from the weight room, with no time to shower or change back into his uniform; his dirty-blond hair was damp and tousled with sweat, and the Brotherhood tattoos visible beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt gleamed as though they'd been polished. Margot caught a glimpse of Team X-Ray's distinctive helmet-and-crossbones unit badge on an upper arm, and the Paladin insignia tattooed on his left wrist, in the same spot it would have occupied on the plating of his Power Armor gauntlets.

“Paladin Rex,” Danse greeted him. “Good to see you, brother.”

Paladin Rex beamed, and clapped him warmly on the back.

“Danse,” he boomed. “Heard you were re-enlisting! Welcome home! You're still one of ours, right?”

“Until the day I die,” Danse said proudly. “This body might be synth, but my heart and mind belong to the Brotherhood.”

“All I needed to hear,” said Paladin Rex, nodding. “Glad we didn't have to lose you for long, Danse. You take care of yourself out there, brother.”

“Thanks, Rex. You too.”

Paladin Rex caught Margot's eye, and gave her a small, appreciative nod.

“De Havilland - you did a hell of a thing, standing by Danse the way you did. Thanks for looking out for him, sister.”

“Hey, any time,” Margot said, with a heartfelt salute. “We Paladins take care of our own.”

Paladin Rex grinned, and returned the gesture.

“Damn straight. Hey, Vries! DeMarco! Get the others down here, stat!” he bellowed back up the ladder. Even Rex's voice was huge, Margot thought, grimacing a little as it rebounded loudly off the metal walls.

“ _Team X-Ray, report immediately to the command deck,”_ the tannoy announced, a few seconds later. _“Team X-Ray, to the command deck.”_

Margot heard the sounds of running feet and watched them file down the ladder, one by one: Paladin Vries, brawny, blond and scarred; Paladin DeMarco, dark and athletic; Paladin Rouche, a dark-haired woman with a dangerous look in her eyes; Paladin Herschel, slight and shaven-headed, with a pair of night-vision goggles still strapped to his head; Lancer-Sergeant Greer, a confident platinum-blonde; Field Scribe Danvers, a tall woman with light brown hair and eyes the ever-changing color of the sea; and finally, the team's newest member, Initiate Fowler, a burly teenager with arms full of the equipment he hadn't had chance to put down.

“Let's go,” said Danse quietly, leading her up the ladder. “No need to interrupt their debriefing.”

“Elder Maxson,” said Paladin Rex loudly, below them. “Team X-Ray reporting for duty, sir!”

“Thank you for assembling your team so quickly, Paladin Rex,” Elder Maxson's voice came ringing up through the stairwell. “I have a new mission for you. As you're probably already aware, the Gunners have been targeting our teams out in the wastes, trying to steal our Vertibirds. But this time they've gone too far. They killed one of our pilots and tortured two more of our own trying to obtain intel. I've had enough. I want them dead. Hunt them down like dogs and bring back those Vertibirds. Do it quickly, and do it now.”

“With pleasure, sir,” growled Paladin Rex. “I saw Belasco and Ellens when they brought them in. Those mercenary bastards are as good as dead.”

“ _Ad victoriam,”_ Margot muttered, as she climbed. “Give 'em hell, boys... they deserve nothing less.”

*

Danse looked down at the gray tabby cat on the floor. It was rubbing against his ankles, weaving in and out through the legs of his chair and purring rapturously.

“Good to see you too, Emmett,” he said, reaching down to pet the cat's head. “ _Ad victoriam,_ kitty.”

“Danse, if we could get back to business?” said Proctor Quinlan. He was tapping his pen impatiently against a stack of forms.

“Of course,” said Danse hastily. He straightened up in his seat. “My apologies, Proctor Quinlan. Where were we?”

Proctor Quinlan pushed the three-page enlistment form across the desk to him.

“Your details. I would have copied them from your personnel records, but they've already been removed from the Scrolls and incinerated. I'm afraid you'll have to start again.”

 _In more ways than one,_ Danse reflected, as he picked up a pen and looked through the form. It took him suddenly back in time to his enlistment as a much younger man. How many years had it been? Too many. His eyes had been brighter then, and his face less scarred. Cutler had still been alive; his best and only friend. War had seemed like a great big adventure to both of them. Now his pen hovered over the paper with rather less certainty.

Unlike many of the wasteland recruits, he'd learned how to read and write at some point before enlisting with the Brotherhood. He remembered the basic literacy classes and how most of his fellow wastelanders had had to be shown which way to hold a pencil. He and Cutler had been the only two of the group who had demonstrated any real proficiency with the written word; Cutler had learned from his parents and sister in Rivet City, but Danse couldn't remember how he'd learned to read and write. Had he been taught, or simply programmed with the knowledge? There was no way to know for sure what had really existed before he joined the Brotherhood of Steel.

He began with his name.

 _Danse,_ he wrote in a neat and careful hand, then added, more cautiously, _Stuart._ The name Margot had helped him to choose. The Institute had taken away his identity, but she'd given it back and shown him how to make it his own. Having a first name made him feel more real, somehow; more firmly grounded in the world.

Emmett hopped up onto his lap and settled down, purring. Danse broke off to stroke the cat again, feeling the happy vibrations emanating from the furry little body curled up on his knees, then returned once again to the form.

 _Date of birth._ He didn't know. After all, he hadn't been born. He was supposed to be thirty-three, he knew that much, although there were no memories of parents or birthday celebrations, and only a few artificial glimpses back into the years before he'd found Rivet City, Cutler, and the Brotherhood of Steel. He'd always used the day he'd enlisted as his official birthday. Cutler had joked that it was a rebirth of sorts into the Brotherhood - a new man, a new life. He'd just considered it a conveniently memorable date.

 _May 6, 2256._ The year was probably dishonest, and the date purely symbolic, but it was all he had to work with.

 _Place of birth._ His stomach churned at the thought of having to write down _The Institute,_ but his synthetic memories had no real answers for him - before Rivet City, there had been no home, no family, and only the desolate ruins of the Capital Wasteland for company.

He sighed, and wrote _Washington, D.C.._ It wasn't true, but his earliest memories had been based in the ruined capital of what had once been the United States of America, and he clung to them still, even though he knew that they weren't real. It was also the answer he'd given the last time the question had been posed to him; he might as well be consistent, he reflected.

 _Blood type._ That was an easier one. _Type O negative._ A universal donor, Knight-Captain Cade had observed once, with considerable interest, as he'd gone over Danse's medical records. Danse had donated blood to the Brotherhood of Steel on numerous occasions, keen to do his part to save the lives of his fellow soldiers; he wondered how many of his brothers and sisters were walking around with synthetic blood in their veins right now. He hadn't heard reports of any ill-effects, so synth blood was probably indistinguishable from the real thing, just like him.

Danse ran through the other questions with rather more ease, until he stopped short at the last question, which requested details of next of kin.

He hesitated. There was nobody. Even if he were to borrow a facetious page from Margot's book and put down the name of some Institute scientist as his parent, they would either have fled or died after the Institute's destruction. The only one he knew of was Doctor Li, now in the Brotherhood's employ as a civilian contractor, and he didn't like her enough to claim any kind of kinship. He thought of his fellow synths – Curie, Nick, even X6-88 – but promptly dismissed the idea. They were friendly acquaintances, but not people he could call family. The only person he was sufficiently close to was...

He had to force himself not to write the words _De Havilland, Margot_ and tick the box which read _Spouse/Significant Other_. Much as he wanted to declare to the whole Brotherhood that he loved her, that disclosure would cost him everything he held dear. He sighed, and wrote down the loneliest phrase in the universe:

 _N/A_.

He initialed the waivers and disclaimers which listed the possible dire consequences of active military service - including death, dismemberment, permanent physical or mental incapacity, irradiation, and other occupational hazards - then signed his name and passed the form back across the desk to Proctor Quinlan.

_And with a few strokes of a pen, I sign my life over to the Brotherhood of Steel. Again. Last time, I didn't feel this kind of apprehension. But things were different then. I was different. I wasn't a synth with no name and no past. I hope I'm still doing the right thing..._

“Is there no record of my prior service at all?” he said, as Proctor Quinlan started to read through the form. “Was my Scroll really removed from the Codex?”

Proctor Quinlan seemed reluctant to answer at first. He removed his glasses and polished them on the sleeve of his Scribe robes.

“Well... I hesitate to mention this,” he said grudgingly. He replaced his glasses on his nose. “But when a former member of the Brotherhood is expelled and their Scroll removed from the great Codex, a record is still retained by the Order of the Quill. We call it the Black Codex. I'm sorry to say that your record was copied into its pages when your Scroll was destroyed.”

Danse stared at him, open-mouthed.

“The Black Codex?”

“I'm afraid so,” said Proctor Quinlan, with a severe look over the top of his glasses at Danse. “It's a very small volume - only the Elder Council and senior members of the Order of the Quill are permitted to review it. We don't like to acknowledge that such a thing even _exists_ , of course, but some record must be kept of those we have cast out, if only to serve as a warning to future generations. Imagine if one of those monsters ever sought to return to our order – present company excepted, of course.”

“Does my record have to stay in there?” said Danse. He felt an uncomfortable shiver run up his arms. Margot might have joked that infamy was better than obscurity, but after all the years he'd striven to serve with honor, to end up in the Black Codex... had he really fallen so far?

“Your Scroll will be reinstated into the Codex once we are entirely satisfied that you belong to us, and not the Institute,” said Quinlan, with a rather haughty sniff. “By the grace and mercy of Elder Maxson, and the intercession of your sister in Steel, you may yet be redeemed. Consider yourself very fortunate to have Paladin de Havilland as an ally, Danse. I certainly wouldn't want her as an adversary.”

“No indeed,” said Danse. “I - ”

He was cut off by a muffled sob from the sick bay across the hall.

“ _It's okay, Ellens,”_ he heard Haylen's soothing tones, soft and gentle. _“Knight-Captain Cade isn't going to harm you. You're safe here, I promise. Paladin de Havilland's here too, just like you asked, and she won't let anything bad happen to you either. Right, Paladin?”_

“ _Right,”_ he heard Margot say quietly. _“Don't worry, Ellens, we're here for you.”_

“ _See? You're going to be all right. Just hold my hand, okay? I've got you, sister.”_

“ _I'm sorry...”_

“ _I know this must be difficult, Knight-Sergeant,”_ said Knight-Captain Cade. Normally brisk and businesslike, he was adopting softer, more reassuring tones. _“You have two broken ribs from your fall and they need to be treated. However, I understand that any kind of physical contact must be uncomfortable after what you've been through. If you need us to stop and continue this later, I can give you something for the pain and - ”_

“ _No! No, please. I'm okay. I just want to get this over with.”_

“ _Understood. I'll try to make this quick. I'm sorry, sister, I'm afraid this may hurt a little - ”_

Danse closed his eyes as a cry of agony rang out.

“Ellens has to be the one of the bravest soldiers I've ever met,” he said. “The suffering she and Belasco endured at the hands of those mercenaries was truly barbaric, and yet they refused to divulge classified information, no matter what was done to them. I'm proud of them both. My only regret was that I couldn't have killed a few more Gunners for them.”

Proctor Quinlan's face tensed with anger.

“Savages,” he said, shaking his head. “Absolute savages. First the Institute, now the Gunners - scourge after scourge. I almost find myself wishing that we'd stayed in the Capital Wasteland. Still, we have a mission here. That mission is to bring peace and security to the Commonwealth. We won't stop until the people here are safe from such menaces.”

“Do you think we'll move on once we've accomplished that?” said Danse. His heart stilled in his chest at the thought of departing the Commonwealth, perhaps for good, in search of pastures and battles new. What would Margot decide to leave behind – home and family, or the Brotherhood of Steel? What would that mean for him?

“Well, that depends entirely on Elder Maxson and what he thinks is best for the Brotherhood, although I expect that - ”

There was yelling outside Proctor Quinlan's office, but this time it wasn't coming from across the hall.

“Knight Raymond, there's no need to – come on, Rita, don't do this!” someone was pleading. “You don't have to go just because _he's_ here! Look, just take some time to cool off and think about it, okay? Please, sister!”

“My mind's made up! Let go of me, Fletcher!”

Knight Raymond shook off the arm of her protesting brother in Steel and strode into the office, her cheeks flushed with anger. When she looked down and saw Danse sitting by the desk, she made a furious little sound in her throat.

“So it's true!” she said, disgusted. “Elder Maxson's really letting that _thing_ re-enlist? Has he lost his mind? How the hell did that witch persuade him into letting a synth serve with the Brotherhood of Steel?”

“I assume that by “that witch”, you're referring to Paladin de Havilland, Knight Raymond?” said Proctor Quinlan coldly.

“Who the hell else would I be referring to? The Nuka-Cola girl?” Knight Raymond snapped. “That wasteland bitch obviously has some kind of hold on Elder Maxson - how else could she have persuaded him to let a monstrosity like Danse live? That damn device isn't fit to clean an Initiate's boots! And now they're allowing it back into the Brotherhood, even after it killed one of our brothers!”

“Knight Payne was a member of a forbidden cult and when he attempted to murder Paladin de Havilland in cold blood, he paid the price with his life,” Proctor Quinlan reminded her patiently. “Knight-Captain Danse rushed to the defense of his superior officer and sister in Steel, as any good member of the Brotherhood should.”

“Knight-Captain?” said Knight Raymond, with a bitter little chuckle. “So now I'm outranked by a machine? Oh, no. This is insanity. I'm not serving with that _contraption_ , and I'm sure as hell not taking orders from it! Tell Elder Maxson that I quit!”

She tore the holotags from her neck and threw them down onto the desk. Proctor Quinlan looked alarmed.

“Now hold on a minute, Knight, there's really no need for - ” he began.

“Yes there is! I'm leaving!” Knight Raymond declared. “I don't care if I have to walk back home to the Capital Wasteland - I am _not_ cozying up to the kind of abomination I was told I had to kill on sight! Danse is an enemy of the Brotherhood, and if you're going to make him the enemy within, then you can count me out! Goodbye, Proctor!”

She stormed out of the office again. Danse stood up to go after her, dislodging Emmett from his perch, but Proctor Quinlan shook his head.

“I wouldn't bother if I were you,” he warned. “If Knight Raymond wants to go, then let her. A soldier who won't obey orders is no use to the Brotherhood of Steel. I'll process the resignation paperwork and inform Lancer-Captain Kells. He won't be pleased about this, but... well, it won't be the first time this sort of thing has happened. Occupational hazard, I'm afraid.”

He made an assortment of weary noises and started typing at the terminal on his desk. Emmett jumped up onto the desk and nudged his elbow until his owner relented and started to pet him. Soft purring filled the room.

“So was that all you needed from me, Proctor Quinlan?” said Danse.

Proctor Quinlan remembered himself, and hurriedly countersigned and stamped the form which Danse had filled in.

“Yes, that will do for now,” he said finally. “If Paladin de Havilland has already returned your old equipment to the quartermaster's store, then please report to Proctor Teagan for a new uniform and the usual kit. When you're done, report to Proctor Ingram and speak to her about Power Armor, then report to Knight-Captain Cade for the standard medical examination. No doubt he'll be curious about examining our first synth recruit.”

“As long as he doesn't hand me over to Senior Scribe Neriah for dissection,” Danse joked feebly.

“No need for that sort of thing, providing you behave yourself,” said Proctor Quinlan, in milder tones. “All right, Danse. Welcome back to the Brotherhood of Steel. When Paladin de Havilland has finished chaperoning Knight-Sergeant Ellens in the sick bay, please have her sign this form and get that paperwork filed with Lancer-Captain Kells.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Danse, taking the papers from the Proctor's hand. _“Ad victoriam._ ”

“ _Ad victoriam_. You are dismissed.”

*

Margot sat in the mess hall, mechanically working her way through the tray of food in front of her. It had been better than sitting alone in her quarters. That would have given her time to think, and she didn't want to be alone with her thoughts.

She hadn't wanted to be present for Knight-Sergeant Ellens' medical examination, but Scribe Haylen had sought her out and told her that Ellens had requested the presence of someone she trusted, and that she'd asked for Paladin de Havilland, who'd saved her life. There had been no polite way to refuse a request like that, so she'd reported in and told Ellens that of course she would be there to provide moral support and reassurance.

Knight Belasco had been in the next bay, heavily sedated and being tended to by another medic. She'd shuddered at the sight of his scars. Ugly gouges and lines had criss-crossed his torso, arms and legs, the memory of a thousand cuts – some faint, some fresh. Even in his sleep, he'd sobbed.

Haylen had been so calm; professional in her role as medical assistant, but always compassionate and gentle toward her patient. She'd held Ellens' hand while Knight-Captain Cade tended to her injuries, trying to reassure her that she was safe and that nobody in the Brotherhood would ever do her harm. Ellens had nodded – she'd known that, of course – but part of her still associated even the lightest touch with terror and pain, and the way she'd flinched so fearfully at the chief medical officer's approach had filled Margot's heart with unutterable sadness.

In addition to the unspeakable cruelties inflicted upon her by the Gunners, the young soldier had two broken ribs – the result of losing her balance at the foot of the stairs and crashing sideways into the table. Margot had cringed as Ellens had described the cause of the injury. That had been _her_ fault. Setting a bad example to a junior officer by carelessly skipping stairs, the same way she'd set a bad example by trying to abdicate her moral responsibilities and finding an excuse to inflict harm on the Gunner during interrogation. She was a fool and a hypocrite. Not Paladin material at all. Elder Maxson had been wrong to promote her, just as he'd been wrong to cast out Danse, the finest Paladin the Brotherhood had ever had.

 _If Ellens can get through this, she'll make one hell of a Paladin,_ she found herself thinking, even as she chewed on a tasteless hunk of what she hoped was bread. _Better and braver than me._

“ _For I am Steel,_ ” the girl had whispered to herself, over and over. _“I bend, but do not break.”_ The mantra which had kept her and Belasco alive throughout their ordeal had been her constant companion during the medical exam as well. It was a phrase often taught to new recruits, reminding them that although they were human and would make mistakes in the course of their career, they couldn't allow themselves to crack under pressure and fail in their duties to the Brotherhood of Steel. The young woman had sought refuge in those familiar words, reminding herself that she couldn't let anything break her, no matter what happened.

She remembered the anger which had banished the dull, dead look in Ellens' eyes back at the GNN Plaza. It was a look she recognized all too well. She'd seen it too many times in the mirror of her house in Sanctuary Hills. That burning flame, the desire for vengeance against those who had destroyed her life; the fury which had kept her going long after she thought fear and grief would eat her alive. Revenge was one hell of a reason to get out of bed in the mornings, but some days, when the pain of losing her husband and son had been unbearable, the rage had been the only thing keeping her going. Over time, it had abated and she'd found gentler, happier reasons to go on living. She hoped, desperately, that Ellens would too.

Once the medical exam had concluded and Ellens had been patched up to the best of Cade and Haylen's abilities, Elder Maxson had come to visit her in the sick bay. His initial greeting had been stiff and formal, but then he'd taken Ellens' hand in his and said, very quietly:

“ _I'm sorry, sister. I failed you.”_

Ellens had looked horrified.

“ _No, Elder Maxson! You didn't fail me. Paladin de Havilland and Knight-Captain Danse said you sent a team looking for us. It wasn't your fault, sir. Please don't blame yourself.”_

“ _I should have done more,”_ he'd said, his voice heavy with regret. _“I should have torn the Commonwealth apart looking for you and your brothers. You should never have had to endure torture and captivity. Not for a day, not for a month... I will do everything in my power to see the Gunners destroyed and to honor you and Knight Belasco for your bravery, but I suspect that may be small consolation after what you went through. Please forgive me, sister.”_

As Ellens had flung her arms around the Elder's shoulders, it had struck Margot that in spite of his fearsome reputation, Arthur Maxson was only twenty-two years old, the same age as Ellens, and that he'd returned the young soldier's hug unhesitatingly, as if he were embracing a member of his own family; in that moment, she'd understood a little more of the man and what really made him tick.

_I thought Danse was the same once. Uncaring and cold. How wrong I was about both of them..._

“Paladin? May I join you?”

Danse was standing beside the table, holding some paperwork. He was wearing a fresh uniform jumpsuit; olive-drab and black. It suited him, she thought, silently admiring the way the fabric adhered so perfectly to his form, although she would have given just about anything to see him back in his old Power Armor suit.

“Of course,” she said, smiling. “No Power Armor today?”

“I told Proctor Ingram that we had Power Armor to spare back in Sanctuary Hills,” said Danse, as he took a seat beside her. “I'll just have to repaint my old suit - under my sponsor's supervision, of course. Wouldn't want to accidentally impersonate a Paladin, as well as a human being.”

Margot rolled her eyes.

“God forbid, right? I can't believe they made me your sponsor. Gratifying though it is for the pupil to become the master, I hate being in charge of you, like you're some sort of pet and I have to clean up after you if you make a mess.”

“If it makes you feel better, I promise not to relieve myself on any fixtures and fittings, although I do require food, water and regular walks,” Danse said solemnly, although his mouth was twitching a little at the corners. “Here. Proctor Quinlan told me to give you these.”

Margot took the form from his hand and examined its pages.

“Huh. Okay. So all I do is sign here?”

“No, that's for Elder Maxson's final approval. You sign _here_ ,” said Danse.

He moved his index finger to indicate where she should sign her name, only to find her hand already there. Their hands brushed together gently; Margot felt something electric run through her skin at the touch. Danse must have felt it too, she thought, because he looked at her with a shy, adoring smile she'd never seen on his face before.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured. “That was inadvertent. Please excuse me, Paladin.”

“Quite all right, Knight-Captain,” she said loudly, to mask her pinkening cheeks. “Okay, so I sign _here._ Do you have a pen?”

Danse patted his pockets, then shook his head.

“Here,” said Haylen, as she passed by. She proffered a blue ballpoint pen. “Sorry, can't stop, Scribe-Initiate Morgan wants my help with something upstairs.”

“Thanks, Haylen. Catch you later.”

Margot scribbled her signature on the form and handed the papers back to Danse.

“There, now you're official,” she said, with a grin. “You get your holotags updated yet?”

Danse beamed proudly and removed them from his neck to show her. She read the display and noted, with a flare of warmth in her chest, that his new first name had been included too.

_Knight-Captain Stuart Danse. DN-407KC. Back where he belongs, in the Brotherhood of Steel. I couldn't be happier for him._

“Congratulations, Danse. So how about your medical? How'd that go?”

“Fine,” said Danse, replacing his holotags. “A little more poking and prodding than the usual, but given my artificial nature, that's hardly surprising. I advised Knight-Captain Cade that I sought treatment for my headaches and insomnia. And he was very relieved to hear that my answer to the final question hadn't changed since the last time he asked.”

Margot snickered.

“You should have told him you'd been having a torrid affair with a Deathclaw. I would loved to have seen his face.”

Danse's eyebrows knotted together.

“I will never know why you take such perverse delight in tormenting people who are only trying to do their jobs, Margot. As a Paladin - ”

This time she giggled.

“Oh, come on, you know I can't resist poking people who take things too seriously! Even Paladins need to get their kicks once in a while...”

“All very well, but - ”

Danse and Margot both looked up at the scrape of a chair beside them. A Knight had been about to sit down at their table, but as he looked down and realized that he was about to find himself in the company of the Brotherhood's first synth recruit, his expression clouded over and he turned away again.

“No way am I sitting with one of _those_ things,” they both heard him mutter.

Margot saw the momentary look of hurt in Danse's eyes, and then his face hardened like stone. He did that sometimes, she'd noticed; when something he heard or saw hurt him, he grew quiet and still, as if he were trying to shut down his emotions and hide them away behind a blank stare. And yet for that split second, she'd seen the pain etched into his expression. It made her want to tear apart the world that had hurt him, and tend to all the wounds he tried to conceal from view.

“Oh yeah? Well, I wasn't going to let a sorry specimen like you sit near my protégé anyway!” she yelled after the departing Knight. “Get the hell out of here before I have you up on charges, you disrespectful asshole! Your CO's going to hear about this!”

Another shadow fell across her. Still seething, she turned around again.

“And what the fuck do you think you're looking - ?” she began.

The words fell away as she looked up and saw two figures; Star Paladin Hopkins and a smaller, slighter figure with golden hair. She tried not to groan.

_Oh, great. Just what I need right now. A social call from Maxson's bodyguard and his mail-order bride. What the hell do they want?_

“Yes?” she said, with teeth-gritting politeness.

“Sorry to bother you, Paladin de Havilland,” said Star Paladin Hopkins, with the most unrepentant expression she'd ever seen outside a courtroom. “Elder Maxson asked me to introduce Scribe Harper to the senior personnel on the _Prydwen_. She's very excited to meet you.”

 _Is she hell,_ thought Margot, but she forced herself to smile anyway.

“Paladin de Havilland,” she said, saluting. “Pleasure to meet you, sister. So I hear you're going to be the First Lady of Steel soon?”

Scribe Harper went a delicate shade of pink.

“Yes, ma'am,” she mumbled, and looked down at her boots. “I have to respond to the proposal by tomorrow morning.”

“Well, uh, good for you. Congratulations. Anything I can help you with?”

Scribe Harper shook her head in a flurry of golden curls.

“N-no, ma'am. Thank you for asking.”

“Pardon us, Paladin, but we have to finish making the rounds,” Star Paladin Hopkins interrupted, before Margot could think of something else to say. “I've been trying to introduce Scribe Harper to Proctor Ingram for two days now and never seem to be able to catch her off-duty. We'd best be going. _Ad victoriam,_ sister.”

“ _Ad victoriam_ , Star Paladin,” Danse said, with a dutiful salute.

Star Paladin Hopkins gave him a sharp look, but he caught Margot's expression and wisely decided not to let things escalate.

“I swear to God, the next person to give you a dirty look is going to get an all-expenses-paid trip to the infirmary,” Margot grumbled under her breath, as the Elder's bodyguard led the Scribe away.

“Star Paladin Hopkins always was a traditionalist,” said Danse, apparently unperturbed.

Margot scowled.

“That's an interesting new way of pronouncing _stuck-up asshat_ ,” she said.

“Be fair to our brother, Paladin. He's just trying to come to terms with things,” said Danse, more reasonably. “The circumstances of my departure and return will undoubtedly have caused a great deal of upheaval and confusion in the Brotherhood. Most people won't know what to think for a while. I hope that they'll come to realize that I'm still the same person they used to know, in spite of my origins.”

“They'd better,” said Margot, still eyeing the retreating backs of Star Paladin Hopkins and Scribe Harper with deep suspicion. “You're under my protection and I won't allow anyone to disrespect you. If they do, Knight-Captain Cade's going to have to ask them a lot of awkward questions. Like how they managed to get _both_ feet lodged up their ass at the same time.”

Danse stifled a snort.

“Proctor Quinlan's right,” he said. “I should be thankful you're on my side. I'd hate to have you for an enemy.”

Margot's eyes came mischievously to life as she grinned. She was joking, of course – he knew that. She remembered the civilized world better than anyone else alive, and she knew how civilized people behaved. And yet Danse wondered how different things might have been if she'd run into one of the Commonwealth's unkinder factions straight out of Vault 111 and resorted to teaming up with them instead in her desperate attempt to survive. What would have become of her, if fate had guided her elsewhere? Would she have become a Gunner commander, harsh and unmerciful in her combat armor, dark eyes glinting coldly beneath a helmet as she ordered the deaths of anyone unfortunate enough to stand between her and a bounty? Or a savage Raider queen in leather and furs, her lips red with the blood of her enemies, ferocious in her cruelty as she and her gangs rampaged through settlement after settlement and tore the Commonwealth to pieces? No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't picture it. It didn't matter which group she'd run into first, Margot would always be Margot – the stubborn, impulsive, generous, warm-hearted woman who'd come running to his rescue when she'd heard that somebody out there needed her help. The force of nature who swept her enemies away, the hand which guided the lost and broken to safety... the piece of his heart he'd never realized was missing until her lips had touched his beneath the leaking roof of an old Pre-War house.

_I always knew there was something missing from my life. Now I've found it. If I'd only known sooner... I could have married you, Margot. I wish I had, while I'd still had time. Now they'll never allow it. But no matter what happens, I'm not going to let you go. I love you too much to lose you now._

“What?”

He jumped. He hadn't known until now that he'd been staring at her, but when he blinked again, he found himself looking her way, transfixed by a pair of brown eyes and a wicked smile.

“My apologies, Paladin,” he said, quickly lowering his eyes. “I was miles away.”

 _Thinking about you dressed up as some sort of Raider princess and making myself shamefully incapable of standing up,_ he thought, trying not to sigh. _If I were Grognak the Barbarian and you were Mar-Got, Raider Queen of the Wastes, I'd throw you over my shoulder and drag you back to my cave without a second thought. Instead I have to sit here and pretend that I'm not madly in love with you. Damn it, I should have dropped off Ellens and Belasco at Cambridge and flown that Vertibird in the other direction. All the way west to New Vegas, where nobody knows or cares who we are. We could have taken in the sights, run through all our caps at the casinos, had far too much to drink, and kissed beneath the neon lights of a city devoted to decadence. I can't imagine anything more foolish, or more perfect._

Margot smiled in return. She knew that distant, dreamy-eyed look. She'd seen it in Nate's eyes more than a few times. Whenever she'd called him out on it, he'd always confessed that he was thinking about spiriting her away for a romantic weekend, or treating her to dinner at some expensive restaurant in downtown Boston. She wondered what Danse had been daydreaming about, and how it had involved her.

“All right, Space Cadet Danse, time to report back to Planet Earth,” she said, giving him a gentle nudge and trying not to smile again as he re-emerged, blinking, from his daydream. “Come on, let's get your paperwork filed and see if we can get our heads down for a few hours. I need some sleep, or I'm going to pass out.”

Danse grabbed the form she'd signed and held the papers chastely in front of him as they got up and walked away.

“Synth bastard,” muttered a Knight, as they passed him in the corridor.

“Get fucked, Knight!” Margot retorted.

“No doubt that would improve his disposition,” said Danse, under his breath.

Shocked, because the Danse she knew _never_ said things like that, Margot had to bite her lip to stop herself from giggling. It didn't work; she made a little spluttering noise and started to laugh anyway. Her amusement died in her throat, however, when she saw a now-familiar girl in a Scribe's robes standing next to the door of her quarters. The young blonde looked up timidly at her approach.

_Oh, for the love of – what does she want now?_

“Scribe Harper,” Margot greeted her, with a slightly suspicious tone. “Is there something I can help you with, sister?”

“Y-you dropped this in the mess hall, Paladin,” said Scribe Harper, stammering a little in her haste to get the words out. She held out her closed fist, waiting for Margot to stick out her hand in return and take whatever she was concealing in the palm of her hand.

Danse shook his head slowly.

“I don't recall that the Paladin dropped anything, Scribe Harper,” he said. “All her personal belongings are present and correct, and I have my paperwork right here. I'm sure Scribe Haylen will come back for her pen in due course.”

Scribe Harper shook her head, as if to counteract his denial.

“No, sir, I don't think either of you noticed, but Paladin de Havilland _definitely_ dropped something!” she persisted. Her voice was a little too loud, and more high-pitched than it had been earlier. “Please, Paladin, I must insist that you let me return it...”

There was something in the way she'd spoken which hinted that they might merit further investigation. More than hinted, in fact. It reminded Margot of the time when her attempts to speak covertly to a Railroad agent at Bunker Hill had been a little too heavy-handed, and she'd almost blown both Deacon's cover and her own by arousing the suspicion of a passing caravan guard.

 _She really wants me to play along,_ Margot thought _._ She wondered what the hell all this was about, but decided to humor the young woman, if only for the sake of her own curiosity.

“How silly of me not to have noticed,” she said, with a tiny nod, and extended her hand. “Thank you for your vigilance, Scribe Harper. I'll be sure to take better stock of my personal possessions in future. _Ad victoriam_ , sister.”

Scribe Harper's cheeks turned a deeper pink.

“ _Ad victoriam,_ Paladin,” she said, and hurried away, robes swishing around her ankles as she ran back in the other direction.

“That was... strange,” said Danse out loud. “I wonder if she's feeling all right.”

Margot looked down at the tiny, scrunched-up scrap of paper which Harper had dropped into her palm. She unfurled it; her eyebrows shot up when she saw the scrawl of handwriting inside.

“I wonder too,” she said.

“Why?” said Danse, craning to look. “What does it say?”

 _Danse, you would never last five minutes in the Railroad,_ she thought, exasperated. _You know all there is to know about operations security, but the square root of hell-all about subterfuge..._

“She wants to borrow my copy of _Hunger For Handcuffs_ ,” Margot told him, careful to make sure that her voice was loud enough to be heard by anyone within earshot. Out of the corner of one eye, she saw a couple of Scribes go red and hurry away. “I'm pretty sure I left it in my quarters somewhere. Why don't you help me look, Knight-Captain Danse?”

“I thought that you - ”

Margot grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into her quarters before he could make any further protest. She slammed and locked the door behind them.

“Danse, you really need to learn how to play dumb once in a while!” she warned him. “She was trying to tell us something secretly, and you were all but demanding to know what it was in front of the entire crew. Remind me never to take you out on covert ops with the Minutemen!”

“My apologies,” said Danse, abashed, but only briefly; inquisitiveness got the better of him. “So what _did_ she say?”

“See for yourself,” said Margot, passing him the note.

Danse took it from her open hand and unrolled the paper. There was a scribble of black ink across it, like the last words of a spider who'd tired of life and attempted to drown itself in an inkpot. He squinted, trying to interpret the loops and lines of careless penmanship.

“ _Forecastle deck, 11 p.m. - come alone,”_ he read aloud.

He looked up, frowning.

“What's this about?”

“I have about as much idea as you do,” said Margot, with a glimmer of interest in her eyes. “But I'm always up for a little sleuthing. I've worked a few cases with Nick in my time – maybe solving this one will finally earn me my junior detective badge. What do you think? Should I go?”

Danse's tone was more cautious.

“That depends, soldier. Will I have to rescue you from being thrown off the _Prydwen_ if you do?”

“I think it's a reasonable assumption to make that Elder Maxson's bride-to-be isn't the secret leader of the Paragons of Steel, so no, probably not,” said Margot. However, nothing these days truly surprised her any more, so she took care to add: “But you may not want to be too far away, in case something went wrong with the vetting process and she really is some kind of crazed religious fanatic bent on revenge. You never know.”

Danse nodded.

“Understood. I'll make sure I'm close at hand.”

“Thanks, Danse. Now you'd better go file that paperwork before they think you've changed your mind and deserted.”

Danse's face took on a panicked expression and he left the room in haste. As the door banged shut behind him, Margot sat down on the edge of her bed and looked down again at the mysterious note.

“Come alone,” she said out loud, to the small figure perched on the edge of her desk. “I wonder why she wants to see me, of all people? Am I really the only one she trusts with this?”

The small plastic Vault Boy bobblehead nodded cheerfully in response.

“Sucks to be her,” Margot remarked, to the empty room. “But why me? Why not somebody else, like Haylen, or – well, anyone but me?”

Vault Boy had no response this time; he kept grinning his inane plastic grin and nodding his head, over and over.

“I wish I knew what this was about,” she said. “Much as I like a good mystery, I'm really not in the mood for intrigue. I still have to see Elder Maxson about that treaty paperwork and make sure everything's in order. And everyone knows how much I _love_ spending time with our esteemed Elder.”

Vault Boy nodded, in what Margot thought was an unnecessarily sarcastic manner.

“Lucky me,” she said wearily. “All right. If I'm talking to you, then it's definitely time for a nap. You've got more wire and plastic in your head than a whole army of Gen-1 synths. Next thing I know, you'll start talking back, and then I'll know I'm going crazy for sure.”

The blond-headed mascot bobbed his head in agreement.

“Yeah, whatever. Goodnight, you little Vault-Tec asshole.”

Margot pulled off her armor and boots, lay down, and turned over. After a few minutes, the bobblehead's bobbing ceased, and all was still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few bits of commentary for this chapter:
> 
> The Black Codex is my own invention... but it sounded like something the Brotherhood would have. Someone as fussy and officious as Proctor Quinlan would keep detailed records of that sort of thing, just in case, even if not actually required to by the Order of the Quill.
> 
> Regarding Team X-Ray's first actual appearance, I liked the idea of the Brotherhood of Steel having its own elite Spec-Ops unit. Paladin Rex is a total bro and I'm already fond of him and his team of hardcore Brotherhood badasses. Expect to see and hear more of them later now that they've been properly introduced.
> 
> Some mixed reactions to Danse's return from the other Brotherhood members - I imagined that veterans like Rex, who'd known Danse for a long time, would be reasonably sympathetic to him, while younger recruits would either be hostile (because they've been taught to hate synths and had no real attachment to Danse which might override that sentiment) or find themselves completely bewildered by the whole affair and no longer sure what to think. Others probably wouldn't care either way and since Elder Maxson had told them Danse was no longer persona non grata, they'd simply shrug and get on with the job.
> 
> As for Margot's little white lie about the contents of Scribe Harper's note, a personal headcanon of mine is that most of the charred books you find in the wasteland's abandoned storefronts were unsold copies of the in-universe equivalent of that notorious trilogy, Fifty Shades of Grey. I dubbed it "Hunger For Handcuffs" and decided that it would be similarly ubiquitous in the Commonwealth, and possibly the Capital Wasteland too. I've written a cute little anecdote and some exposition involving the nuclear apocalypse's most infamous book - I plan to include it in the main story later. Maybe I'll put it on my Tumblr or something as a sneak preview. (Come find me at the-dubstep-strawberry.tumblr.com if you're curious.)


	15. In This Together

There had been no coffee or sweet rolls waiting for them this time, much to Margot's chagrin - just Elder Maxson, and a mess of paperwork strewn across the table. Scribe Fitzgerald was attempting to reassemble the papers when they strode onto the command deck. Early afternoon sun spilled through the windows and across the table like liquid gold.

“De Havilland,” Maxson greeted them. “Danse. Good. Take a seat and let's review things one more time. Scribe Fitzgerald assures me that this is the final draft.”

“Yes, Elder Maxson,” said Scribe Fitzgerald, nodding. “The eighth and final draft. I hope it's to your satisfaction this time, sir. And to yours, ma'am,” he added, with a nervous glance at her.

“If it's not, I'll save you some trouble and initial the changes myself,” Margot told him, casting a sympathetic look back across the table.

She was all too familiar with the amount of work which had once gone into the revision of legal documents. What a waste of time it had all been in the end, she thought sadly. If only so much effort had been poured into trying to rid the world of nuclear weapons, so that the concept of mutually-assured destruction could never have been put to the test - then there would have been no Glowing Sea, no Ghouls, no Deathclaws. The Vaults would never have been built. She, Nate and Shaun would have lived out their lives in happiness and peace, and that gold watch in her floor safe would have been handed on to their descendants, one after the other, until the de Havilland family line reached the year 2289 by normal means and continued on into the future.

_If there had been no Great War, and no Brotherhood of Steel, I wonder what would have become of Arthur Maxson. Where would he be now? Still in the military? A big name in college football, about to go pro? Some kind of Hollywood hero, the kind that women sigh over and men aspire to be? What about the Institute? Would they still have made Danse? What would have become of synths in that brave new world?_

It wouldn't matter, she decided, as Scribe Fitzgerald continued to shuffle papers across the wooden tabletop. She would have been long dead either way, and there would have been no way for their paths to cross. Although the bombs and the Institute had brought her and Danse together in the most heartrending of circumstances, something precious had been born of their chance encounter; a cherished friendship which had gradually deepened into love. In spite of all that she'd lost on her journey, she wouldn't have changed that for the world.

Elder Maxson picked up a bundle of papers and began with the fateful words:

“Why don't we start with the Saugus Ironworks concessions?”

 _Oh my God, I'm bored already,_ thought Margot irritably, and wished that Preston was here to deal with all of this for her. Her area of expertise had been civil rights and Constitutional law, not contract negotiations and international disputes; she'd always preferred the cases which had taken her into the courtroom and given her a good excuse for an argument. Contract law, by comparison, was irredeemably dull work with very few opportunities to show off in court, and something she'd always done her best to avoid.

Danse was making a desperately sincere attempt to pay attention, but she could see that _pro rata_ shares and Tato crop yields really weren't his thing, and that his eyes were starting to wander her way. She caught his eye across the table and pulled a face. He grimaced back in response; as bored as she was, she was gratified to note.

When she was convinced that the Elder was so immersed in fine details that he wouldn't notice if the _Prydwen_ dropped out of the sky, she smiled slyly and extended her foot, reaching out under the table until it met Danse's. He looked up, startled, then his expression settled into a deep frown.

 _Oh no, don't you dare,_ his warning glance seemed to say. _Don't even think about it. You'll make a scene._

She merely raised her eyebrows in response.

_I'm the General of the Minutemen, honey. I've made more scenes than Vera Keyes. And I think you're in need of a little distraction..._

She let her foot caress Danse's ankle for a moment or two, then moved it slowly up his leg to stroke his calf. She'd expected a yelp, or a glower, or swift retribution in the form of a kick to the ankle; instead, she watched him draw in his breath in a low, uncomfortable hiss.

Elder Maxson had noticed Danse's apparent discomfort; he broke off, mid-sentence, and peered over the top of the papers.

“Knight-Captain Danse, are you all right?” he inquired.

Danse nodded, although Margot couldn't help noticing that his face was beginning to flush.

“Yes, sir,” he said, in a low murmur. “My apologies. It, uh... seems to be a little warm in here. Perhaps I should step outside and leave you and Paladin de Havilland to review the treaty paperwork in peace.”

“No, please, I insist that you stay,” Margot said, with a fiendish grin, as Danse started to rise from his seat. “After all, I'm going to need a representative of the Minutemen to verify that these negotiations have been fair and equitable. Besides, who's going to witness my signature if you go running off for fresh air?”

“This shouldn't take long, Danse,” Elder Maxson was quick to assure him. “Discussions are all but over; we're simply proofreading at this stage and making sure that we're all in agreement with the existing provisions as written. You'll be free to go soon enough.”

His attempt to excuse himself thwarted by manners and protocol, Danse realized that he had no choice but to settle back down in his seat. Not even a Stealth Boy was going to get him out of this situation, he thought glumly. Margot was doing this on purpose, he was sure of it - out of boredom, or sheer perversity. She knew only too well that what she was doing was completely inappropriate, bordering on dangerous; unfortunately, she seemed to live for that kind of thing.

_Why is she engaging in this lewd and licentious behavior? Does she want us both thrown out of here in disgrace? She knows perfectly well what will happen if she's caught doing something like this, and yet – oh no. Why? Why is she doing this to me?_

Margot's foot was resting idly against his knee, threatening to move a little further up his leg. He tried to glare at her, in spite of his reddening cheeks, but she only smiled in response. His show of resentment hadn't worked.

 _Assaultron in a bikini,_ he thought desperately, trying to nudge her foot away and hoping that nobody else had noticed his predicament. _Deathclaws. Cold showers. Cold, radioactive showers... oh God, why?_

“So what do you think so far, de Havilland?” said Maxson, oblivious to the negotiations going on under the table.

“Fascinating,” said Margot, very deliberately. “Do go on, Elder Maxson...”

 _Damn it, Arthur, hurry up and let me leave,_ Danse thought, scowling and tugging uncomfortably at his collar. He could feel the blush rising even further up his cheeks. _I don't care if every two-bit Tato farm in the Commonwealth gets signed up for eternal servitude and a hundred and ten percent production in favor of the Brotherhood of Steel. Please just let me get out of here, so I can have a quiet word with Margot about tormenting me in public for her own amusement..._

“What do you think, Danse?” said Elder Maxson, turning to look at him.

Danse looked down, giddy with terror. Margot's foot was resting neatly in his lap. He looked up and saw her smile innocently at him from across the table.

_I think Margot might actually be the death of me. She has to be stopped._

“I, uh – pardon my interruption, but could you bring me a glass of water, Scribe Fitzgerald?” he said faintly. “It's much too hot in here.”

“Of course, sir. Excuse me one moment.”

The Scribe rose gracefully from his seat, departed the room, and returned a few moments later with a glass of water. Danse silently thanked whoever was watching over him – God, the Creator, the true essence of Steel, or whatever mysterious force drove the celestial spheres to orbit each other in perfect harmony – and downed half of the purified water in one go.

Margot seemed to be under the impression that she had the upper hand, he thought smugly, but her plan hadn't worked. And when it came to public humiliation, well, two could play at that game...

With an exaggerated cough, he pretended to lose his grip on the glass and dumped the rest of its contents in his lap. Margot gave a little shriek and withdrew her foot sharply, reeling back in shock at the cold water coursing down through the fabric of her uniform and the gaps between her bootlaces.

“Whoops. How clumsy of me,” he observed aloud, trying hard not to keep a little smirk from his face. “My apologies, Paladin. I didn't mean to startle you.”

Margot looked at him, her mouth agape; she might have said something, but Elder Maxson had already turned to stare at her.

“Something amiss, Paladin?” he said. “I trust you don't object to our mutual agreement regarding the Vertibirds?”

She shook her head hastily.

“No, sir. Not at all. Sorry. I... wasn't expecting those terms to be quite so favorable.”

“I'm glad you agree. Now, if we're done here, I think it's about time we signed this treaty and made it official.”

“Yes, I think we're definitely done here,” said Margot, cheeks growing pink. “All right. You first, Elder.”

Elder Maxson took a pen from Scribe Fitzgerald's outstretched hand and signed _Arthur J. Maxson_ with an extravagant flourish, then passed it back to allow the Scribe to pen his own, humbler signature beneath as an official witness to the document.

“Your turn, ma'am,” the Scribe told her. “Sign here, please.”

Margot looked down at the paper, trying not to wince at the feeling of cold water soaking through the toes of her right sock.

_He obviously thought I needed cooling off. Serves me right for trying to get him all hot under the collar... although it certainly livened up that boring meeting. Well, back to business._

She took up the pen and signed, elegantly:

_M. N. de Havilland (Gen.)_

“Now you, Danse,” she told him, sliding the paper across the table. “Right underneath mine.”

“Acknowledged,” he said, with a nod.

She watched as he took up another pen and wrote down, neatly and with care:

_S. Danse._

“And that concludes things for today,” said Elder Maxson grandly, as Danse set down the pen. “Scribe Fitzgerald, please arrange for this document to be copied and sent to The Castle for the Minutemen's records. Thank you, de Havilland, Danse. I believe this is a promising first step toward peace in the Commonwealth.”

Scribe Fitzgerald whisked the paper away before the ink even had time to dry, and with an exchange of the Brotherhood's traditional rallying cry, the meeting was over; papers were being cleared away, and Danse and Margot found themselves climbing back up the ladder to the main deck.

Once they were safely ensconced in their quarters again, with the door fastened behind them, Danse let out his breath in a sigh.

“You are an unholy terror, Paladin,” he told her, flatly. “I don't know why you persist in pushing your luck with that kind of behavior, but I strongly advise that you cease and desist immediately. You know perfectly well that it will only end in trouble for both of us.”

“I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Knight-Captain,” Margot said airily. “And for the record, I can't imagine how my foot came to be there in the first place. Very careless of me.”

Danse knew that he ought to be angry with her for ignoring her own advice about being careful and discreet, and yet it was difficult to stay mad at her for long. Her impetuous nature and the risks she took scared and thrilled him in equal measure – and while the terror of being caught had been overwhelming, he had to admit that her attempt to distract him from the tedium of paperwork hadn't been an entirely unpleasant experience.

“Yes, it was,” he said, trying to assemble his expression into something suitably stern. “I hope you've learned your lesson.”

“Oh, absolutely. I won't ever mess around with you in public again,” said Margot virtuously. “Probably.”

Danse drew level with her and took her hands in his.

“Margot, please be serious,” he implored her. “You can't keep doing things like that. I understand that you feel the need to display affection toward me, but we can't run those kinds of risks. You know what will happen if we're found out.”

Margot's first instinct was to say something lighthearted and flippant, but instead she found herself overcome with a sudden rush of shame. Of course she knew. She'd forgotten, or simply chosen to ignore it, but there was no getting away from the fact that she'd been an idiot, and a selfish one at that. What if her reckless antics hadn't gone unnoticed? What would have happened then? Another foolish risk taken on her part, after she'd promised herself – and more importantly, _Danse_ – that she wouldn't put them both in harm's way by doing things like this.

“I... I'm sorry, Danse,” she said, with an awkward little look down at her feet. “I know I should know better, but I couldn't resist. You looked so damn _bored_. And do you even know how cute you are when you blush?”

Danse looked taken aback.

“I've been called many things in my time, soldier,” he said. “But never _cute._ ”

Margot's smile crept back onto her face.

“Clearly nobody was paying attention,” she said, reaching up to murmur the words into his ear. “You're just about the cutest thing there is. How did I manage to luck out and run into someone like you?”

Unexpectedly, Danse smiled.

“Funny you should say that,” he told her. “I keep asking myself the same question.”

“Well, great minds - ”

 _Think alike_ , she wanted to finish, but she was cut off as Danse pressed his lips to hers. Suddenly, the words didn't matter. Nothing did. She threw her arms around him as best she could and allowed herself to surrender to the kiss, letting it pull her closer to him; a warm, breathless kiss, the kind which made her toes tingle and her heart ache with longing.

From time to time - usually after she'd made some flirtatious little remark and seen him stumble so adorably and ineptly over his words – she'd found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss Paladin Danse. She'd always imagined that he kissed with the same brisk efficiency that he did everything else; politely, hesitantly, and as quickly as possible, so that he could get back to the serious business of missions and training exercises. But each kiss surprised her anew. The first one had been tender and sweet; the second fiercer, more passionate; the third one full of love and yearning. This one was starting to taste the way desire felt. Maybe it was the allure of the forbidden, a kiss that shouldn't have been, but the longer it went on, the more she hoped it would never stop.

_If he keeps this up, I think the next kiss will melt me into a puddle. Or end up with me having to explain to Proctor Teagan why I need a new bed, and how I managed to break the last one. Then I'll have to tell extravagant, outlandish, Deacon-grade lies which he won't believe, and if he doesn't report me to Elder Maxson as a synth-loving pervert, someone else will, because the only person on board with hearing loss is Paladin Brandis. There's no way we'd ever get away with it..._

She must have faltered for a moment, because Danse broke off from the kiss to look at her.

“Something on your mind?” he murmured.

“I'd tell you, but you'd blush,” she replied, looking up demurely through her eyelashes at him.

Danse's eyes opened wide.

“Oh,” he said, and looked away bashfully, his face already growing two shades pinker, although there was the suggestion of a smile beneath his embarrassment. “In that case, perhaps it's best that I don't inquire too closely.”

She laughed and pulled him closer to her again.

“You big cutie. Come here...”

They were about to resume their kiss when they heard a knock at the door. They immediately flew apart and looked at the door, their hearts beating faster with fright.

“ _Danse,”_ a gruff voice ordered, from the other side. _“Report to ground immediately for your physical fitness evaluation. Lancer-Captain Gollightly will take you down before the Sarissa heads out on her next assignment.”_

“Yes, sir,” said Danse loudly, and the sound of footsteps departed. To Margot, he said, regretfully:

“That was Knight-Commander Elgin. I'm sorry. I have to go.”

“Of course,” said Margot, finally allowing herself to breathe out again. She kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck, sweetheart.”

“Thanks. See you later.”

She felt the familiar wrench in her chest as she watched him leave, but she reminded herself that he would be fine.

 _No thanks to me and the stunts I keep pulling_. _He's so patient. I don't think anyone else in the Commonwealth would be prepared to tolerate this much of my crap - not even Deacon, the man with a black belt in bullshit. Hmm... I wonder if Deacon's on board? I could use someone to talk to right about now. And some coffee. After all that, I never did get any coffee. That nap didn't do me much good._

She left her quarters and went out to the mess hall. There was some coffee left, although not much. She poured what was left into the nearest coffee cup – it bore the scratched, faded legend _“I Went To Nuka-World And All I Got Was This Lousy Mug”_ – and inhaled the caffeine-scented steam, drawing the smell deep into her lungs.

“Excuse me, Paladin de Havilland?” said someone, just as she was about to take a sip.

Margot's jaw clenched.

 _Do not throw your coffee in their face,_ she told herself. _Whoever it is, and whatever they want, there is no excuse for throwing coffee in people's faces. They don't know you're running on fumes after a night mission and a diplomatic meeting with Elder Maxson. Just smile and be nice._

She lowered the mug and tried to rearrange her aggrieved expression into something more friendly and approachable.

“Yes?”

She saw who it was, and immediately felt ashamed of herself. It was Knight-Sergeant Ellens. She was wearing a fresh uniform and had apparently showered and brushed her hair, but she still looked gaunt and tired; without the layer of dirt to hide them from view, the bruises on her face seemed to stand out a little more against the pallor of her skin.

“I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am,” the younger woman began. “I know you must have had a long night. But I was hoping you had a moment to talk...”

“Of course,” said Margot, without hesitating. “Come on. Let's find somewhere more private to talk. Below decks okay with you, or would you rather go outside for some fresh air?”

“Below decks is fine, ma'am,” Ellens said, in a voice which barely rose above a whisper. “Thank you.”

“Glad you said that,” said Margot, relieved. “I almost got thrown off the _Prydwen_ a few days ago. I'd rather avoid the flight deck for a little while.”

Ellens looked shocked.

“What? Are you all right, Paladin?”

“Yes, I'm fine,” said Margot. “Just some crazy bastard who belonged to a cult and thought I had to be punished for offending Elder Maxson. No need to worry about him any more. He's gone.”

“I get captured by the enemy for a few months and the whole place starts falling apart without me,” said Ellens wryly. “So what else happened while I was MIA?”

Margot gestured for Ellens to follow her, and started walking to the stairs which led to the lower deck.

“The Institute was destroyed in early April,” she explained, as Ellens walked beside her. “I took a detachment of Minutemen in, stormed the building and evacuated as many of the scientists as we could, and then we nuked it to high Hell. We still have some Institute Remnants running around, trying to cause trouble, but they're few in number – most of the scientists either fled the Commonwealth, relocated to civilian settlements and made themselves useful, or wound up dead out in the wastes. Overall, I'd say the operation was a resounding success, although Elder Maxson was kind of pissed that we never even got to use Liberty Prime, after all the trouble we went through to get him up and running again.”

“What about Knight-Captain Danse? How did he get demoted from Paladin?” said Ellens, who still looked stunned by the slew of recent developments.

“He was kicked out of the Brotherhood of Steel back in... damn, must have been February or March,” said Margot, and saw the young soldier's mouth drop open. “The worst part was, he didn't even do anything wrong. Turns out he was a synth all along and he never even knew it.”

Ellens' mouth fell open a little further.

“Danse is a _synth?”_ she said, flabbergasted. “No, that – that can't be right! He's been with the Brotherhood for years – he was with us long before we came to the Commonwealth. I've known him since I was an Initiate. How is that even possible?”

“I don't know,” said Margot. “Even the Institute's records turned up almost nothing - just a serial number and a record of his DNA - but that was enough evidence as far as Elder Maxson was concerned. He ordered me to track down Danse and eliminate him. As you may have guessed, I told our Elder to, uh... well, you get the idea. Needless to say, he wasn't very pleased with me, so I had to avoid the _Prydwen_ for a while. Figured it was best to lie low until everyone calmed down.”

“It sounds ridiculous,” said Ellens, descending the stairs. She was still shaking her head in utter disbelief. “But if it is true, and Danse really is a synth, how the hell did you persuade Elder Maxson to allow him back into the Brotherhood?”

“Persuade... isn't exactly the right word,” said Margot carefully. “Let's just say I kind of forced his hand on the issue. But Danse is home now, and we're trying to get things back to normal around here. Oh, and Elder Maxson's getting hitched,” she added, by way of an afterthought. “They just flew out some Brotherhood girl from Lost Hills to be his bride. Expect the invitations in the mail any day now.”

Ellens perked up a little at the last piece of news.

“About time we had some good news. The Institute's gone, our Elder's getting married... but I'm sorry about Knight-Captain Danse, ma'am. It must have been hard, having to go gunning for your own mentor like that. I still can't believe he's not really human. He's... he's not dangerous, is he?”

“Only to our enemies,” Margot said, not even missing a beat. “Don't worry, Ellens. Nobody in the Brotherhood has anything to fear from Danse. I trust him with my life, and you can too.”

Ellens nodded quickly in agreement.

“If you say so, ma'am, then I believe you. You know him better than anyone else.”

 _I probably do,_ thought Margot, as her footsteps rang out with metallic clangs on the stairs. _Danse rarely allows anyone to get close to him. It was all Haylen could do to get a hug out of the guy, and she was the closest thing he had to a friend. But one day he decided to make an exception for a crazy Pre-War woman with a robot butler and a shotgun, and now we call each other sweetheart and sneak kisses when nobody's looking. He never saw that one coming. Come to think of it, neither did I._

The lower section of the main deck was used mostly for storage. Dark and quiet, dimly lit, there were a few extra bunks down here to accommodate the recent influx of new recruits and the need for extra dormitory space, but there was almost nobody down here during the day. The only sound was a brief argument coming from the area where the recreation terminal had been set up; Haylen and Rhys, arguing over the high score in _Zeta Invaders_ :

“No way! You were cheating!” Haylen was accusing him.

“How do you even cheat on _Zeta Invaders_?” scoffed Rhys. “That was completely down to skill!”

“A hundred and fifty thousand points? Really?” said Haylen sceptically.

“What can I say? Skill,” Rhys boasted.

“Ugh!” said Haylen, disgusted. “I'll beat that high score if it's the last thing I do! Move over!”

Margot noticed the amusement in Ellens' eyes as Haylen jostled Rhys out of his seat and took over the computer terminal, still indignantly insisting that he couldn't possibly have completed Level 15 without some kind of cheat code.

“Those two still aren't dating?” she said.

“Nope. Not yet. But everyone thinks it's only a matter of time. What was it you wanted to talk about, Ellens?”

They sat down behind a stack of crates, leaning against the railings. All around them, the _Prydwen_ sang – the hum of electricity and whirring fans, mechanical noises from the engineering bay, the clanking of feet on metal stairs, the occasional shout, and the distant laughter of the Squires. The hubbub of military life was too loud to serve as a lullaby, but there was something very reassuring about it all the same, thought Margot. Here in the depths of the Brotherhood's flagship, surrounded by her fellow soldiers, she felt safe and secure.

After a few moments, Ellens spoke.

“I'm not sure what it is I really want to say,” she began. “But I need to talk to someone... Scribe Haylen said you would understand. She said some mercenary bastard ruined your life too.”

Margot nodded, feeling her jaw tighten again at the mention of Kellogg.

“I heard about what the Institute did to you, Paladin,” Ellens continued. “How they killed your husband and took your little boy away to be brainwashed and experimented on. And then you woke up centuries later in this horrible, ruined world, with everything you ever loved gone... most people in your shoes would have given up. Lain down and died. But you didn't. Why?”

“I guess I've never been in the habit of giving up on things,” said Margot, with a humorless little smile. “Ask any of my friends and they'll tell you exactly what a stubborn pain in the ass I am. My mom always said I never knew when to quit.”

But the way Ellens looked at her with sharp, accusing eyes spoke volumes. Margot realized that she'd seen past the show of self-deprecation, and was trying to burrow deeper.

“Really, though, ma'am,” the young soldier persisted. “Why didn't you give up? What kept you fighting?”

Margot sighed.

“You really want to know what kept me going? I was angry, Ellens. Fucking angry. _Furious_. I told myself I went out there to look for answers, but I think I was really looking for someone to blame for the end of my world. All I could think about was making those Institute bastards pay... and finding Shaun. I'd lost my husband, but I was convinced that if I fought hard enough, I might still be able to save my son. Turns out I was about sixty years too late.”

She closed her eyes.

“You know what the worst part is? I know that what happened to Nate and Shaun wasn't my fault, but sometimes it still feels like I let them down. Stupid, isn't it?”

Ellens touched her arm.

“I know how you feel, ma'am. I keep thinking that if I'd fought back harder, maybe I could have escaped and found help. I almost did once. I managed to break free while they were moving me to a different room – knocked out the sons of bitches guarding me and started running. I almost made it to the lobby, but then the others caught up with me. You probably don't want to know what happened next...”

The girl's face contorted with something complicated; anger, fear, regret, and something else that Margot couldn't quite read.

“Damn it, I wish they'd just killed me,” she said at last. “I felt so _helpless_. I knew they were trying to break me. I kept telling myself not to give up, not to let them do this to me. I was Steel, strong and unbroken. But - ”

She shuddered with the effort of holding back tears.

“I tried so hard to keep it together, and it didn't even matter in the end. I couldn't protect my team. Corwin's dead and Belasco's damn near destroyed. He's only nineteen, you know that? Nineteen years old. And I sat by and let them torture him until he ran out of ways to scream. All for the sake of a bunch of codes which the Brotherhood could have changed the minute they were compromised.”

“Refusing to talk was the right thing to do,” Margot told her. “If you'd surrendered those codes, the Gunners would have killed you and used the information they'd obtained to hurt even more of our brothers and sisters. Instead, you kept quiet and protected us all from harm. Your silence saved lives, soldier.”

Ellens looked at her with dull, reluctant eyes.

“You're probably right. But - ”

“Ellens, you've been through a living hell and you're still trying to process what happened to you,” said Margot gravely. “It's normal to wonder what you could have done differently. Hell, I know I do. But you're not to blame for what happened to you and your team, okay? It wasn't because you didn't fight hard enough, or because you didn't do everything you could. Sometimes all our best efforts aren't enough to prevent bad things from happening, and we're fortunate just to have survived.”

“I keep trying to tell myself that,” Ellens replied.

“Good, because it's the truth,” said Margot, without hesitation. “The only ones at fault back there were those Gunner bastards who thought they could do whatever they wanted to innocent people, and they're dead now, so the hell with them. They got what they deserved in the end.”

“I know you're right, Paladin,” said Ellens, sighing. “I just wish I could forget the things that happened back there. How do you come back from something like this? How do I keep going after what they did to me?”

“There's no definitive answer to that question,” Margot said cautiously. “Everyone deals with trauma and grief in their own way. But in my experience, you do whatever you need to do to keep going. If you need to cry, then cry. If you need to get angry and kill something out in the wastes that fucking deserves it, then do that. Just don't let what happened to you take over your life. Anger can keep you going for a while, but it'll consume you if you let it take hold. Don't let it eat away at you until there's nothing left of you but a bitter, empty shell, because then they'll make a victim of you. And you're not a victim, Ellens. You're a survivor.”

“What's the difference?” said Ellens hopelessly.

“Huge difference,” said Margot right away. “Victims have no control over their fate. Survivors do. When their power is taken away from them, they fight to take it back. Just like you. You could have given up and let them break you, but you didn't. You chose to fight back instead - and for what it's worth, Ellens, I admire the hell out of you for it.”

“I heard that some of the wastelanders call you the Sole Survivor,” said Ellens. “So – what, you just _chose_ to fight back? Was it really that easy?”

“No, it wasn't,” Margot answered. “In fact, it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But I wasn't about to let those bastards have the satisfaction of destroying me, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let them get away with what they did to my family. So I went out there to find my son and put my life back together. I signed up with the Minutemen. Joined the Brotherhood. Started kicking asses. I have to admit, I was pretty scared at first - but when things got rough out there, I kept reminding myself that people were counting on me to stay alive and I couldn't let them down.”

Ellens nodded silently.

“But I learned something else out there in the wastes,” Margot continued. “My time with the Minutemen, defending all those little settlements in the ass-end of nowhere... it taught me that no matter how bad things get, there's always hope. When things get broken or destroyed, we can always rebuild and start over. People might try to tell us we'll never succeed, but we don't have to listen to that crap. The only way they can stop us is if we let them. The harder they fight us, the harder we fight back, until we win. And we _will_ win. We just have to stick together and keep on fighting. If we can do that, there's no obstacle we can't overcome.”

Ellens was staring at her, her eyes wide in the shadows; Margot suspected that the speech had sounded much more inspirational in her head, but she kept going anyway, in the hope that something useful might still come out of her mouth.

“I'm not saying you have to rush out and join the Minutemen, of course,” she added hastily. “But I've found it helps to have something to focus on. Find something that you care about - something more important than the pain - and hold onto it on the days when everything feels like it's getting too much. Sometimes there'll be crappy, awful times when you feel like giving up, but if you can hold on and remind yourself that you still have something worth fighting for, you can get through this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Margot said firmly. “And you're not alone in this fight, remember that. You're surrounded by people who want to help you. Me, Danse, Haylen, Cade, even Elder Maxson... you've got the entire Brotherhood of Steel at your back, sister. Whatever you need from us, just ask.”

“I could use a hug,” said Ellens, with a wan smile. “And maybe a shot of whiskey.”

“I'd stay away from that stuff if I were you,” Margot warned her. “Trust me, alcohol and chems don't help. They numb the pain for a little while, but then before you know it, they _are_ the pain, and you're worse off than before. You can manage without them – and if you find that you can't, please tell someone before it becomes a real problem, okay?”

Ellens nodded sincerely.

“Yes, ma'am. I'll tell Belasco too.”

“That's a good idea,” Margot agreed. “You probably understand what he's been through better than anyone else ever will. He needs someone like you to tell him that everything's going to be all right.”

“Will everything be all right in the end? Eventually?” said Ellens.

Margot bit her lip.

“I can't make any promises, but from one survivor to another, I think your chances of getting through this are very good,” she said finally. “All you have to do is keep going - one day at a time, one step at a time. Give yourself a reason to keep fighting. Soon you'll start finding more reasons along the way, and the more reasons you find, the easier it gets to carry on. Eventually you'll wonder why you ever wanted to give up in the first place.”

Ellens smiled bravely.

“I already have lots of reasons to keep fighting. They're my brothers and sisters in Steel. I know they need me to be strong, and the Brotherhood's depending on me to get through this so I can start reporting for duty again...”

She trailed off.

“The Brotherhood still needs me, right?” she added, with a little less certainty. “I mean, I know they stopped looking for me, but - ”

“We may have called off the search, but we never stopped looking for you,” Margot was quick to reassure her. “You're our sister, Ellens. The Brotherhood is a family, and our bond is Steel - that bond will never break. No matter what happens, we'll always be there for you. We would have crossed oceans if that was what it took to bring you home.”

Ellens sagged with relief.

“Thank you, Paladin. I think I needed to hear that.”

“You're welcome. Did you still want that hug, soldier?”

Eyes shining, Ellens inclined her head.

“Yes please, ma'am. I know it's probably not appropriate to ask, but - ”

Margot made a dismissive noise and hugged her anyway; with a small sniffle, Ellens buried her head in Margot's arms. They sat together behind the stack of crates and listened to the sounds of the _Prydwen_ and its crew hard at work, neither of them moving at all.

“Feel better?” said Margot at last.

“Yes, ma'am,” said Ellens, emerging from the hug. Her eyes were damp, but she was smiling. “Thank you. For being here for me, and listening, and - ”

“Any time, sister,” Margot told her. “Just hang in there, okay? And if you ever feel overwhelmed, or you just need someone to talk to, come find me or Scribe Haylen. Or Knight-Captain Danse. He may not be as chatty as I am, but he understands grief and loss better than just about anybody. He helped me through some of the worst days of my life and encouraged me to keep going when I was about ready to give up... and when I needed him, he was always there for me.”

Ellens' eyebrows raised slightly.

“People used to say that you and he were - ”

“Not true,” said Margot automatically, with only a small twinge of shame at the lie. “Come on, Ellens, you know how people talk on this rustbucket. The last time I listened to the rumor mill, Proctor Quinlan was the leader of the Railroad, his cat was a synth replacement, and Scribe Neriah was having a passionate affair with Paladin Brandis. You could tell because they said hello to each other once.”

Ellens laughed, a little guiltily.

“Got me there, Paladin. I'm sorry, ma'am. I hope I didn't cause offense.”

“It's okay. I'll let it go this time,” said Margot, with as much dignity as she felt able to muster. “But I'd appreciate it if people didn't make speculations about my personal life. I lost most of it to the Great War and the Institute. I'd rather not be reminded about the fact that my entire family is dead.”

Ellens' smile faded.

“I'm sorry about what happened to you, ma'am,” she said quietly. “I really hope things will get better for you one day.”

Margot nodded.

“Right back at you, soldier. Now come on, let's get out of here. I think we could use something better to do than think about all the crappy stuff that's happened to us. Want to kick Haylen and Rhys off the terminal and play _Zeta Invaders_?”

The young soldier's grin returned in an instant, as if it had never been away.

“I'm not really into video games. But if I may say so, ma'am, I kick _ass_ at Blast Radius. Knight Lucia's got a board we can borrow, if you're interested.”

“Oh no, I'm _terrible_ at that game,” Margot groaned good-humoredly. “Codsworth always beats me! I keep telling him he's got a natural advantage because he's a robot, but then he decides to be all gallant about it and let me win. What fun is that?”

“No need to worry about that around me, ma'am,” said Ellens. She was grinning more widely now, enthusiasm lighting up the shadows on her face. “I never let _anyone_ win at Blast Radius. Paladin or no Paladin, I bet I can totally kick your butt.”

“Challenge accepted, soldier,” said Margot, starting to smile. “Come on, let's go ask Knight Lucia if she's up for a game. Maybe we can _both_ kick her butt.”

“All right, it's on!” crowed Ellens. “You're going _down_ , Lucia!”

 _A fighting spirit,_ thought Margot, relieved, as they ascended the stairs and went back up to the main deck. _If she can hold onto that willingness to keep fighting, then maybe she can get through this after all. Here's hoping._

*

Night fell on the _Prydwen_ and Boston Airport, descending over the ruins of the city and shrouding the skyline in darkness. It brought with it an odd, anxious sense of anticipation, perhaps because of the impending meeting with Scribe Harper; to Margot's relief, however, it also brought back Danse.

“Welcome back, soldier,” she greeted him, as he locked the door of their quarters behind him. “How'd it go?”

“Passed with flying colors,” Danse reported, with a proud nod.

Margot smiled.

“Of course you did. I wouldn't expect anything less. You eaten yet?”

“Affirmative. Could use a drink though.”

She handed him a can of purified water and watched as he cracked it open; he took a long, appreciative swig, as if he hadn't seen water in days. His hair was damp and matted with sweat, and he looked worn out by the events of the day.

“Thanks.”

He went to sit down on the bed. She joined him on the edge of the mattress and laid her hand on his arm.

“You okay?”

“I'm fine. Just tired. I'm probably going to turn in soon.”

“Me too,” Margot agreed. “I could use some sleep if I'm going to meet with Scribe Harper later. She couldn't ask to meet at a civilized hour, like normal people... nope, has to be just shy of midnight.”

“I wonder what she wants?” Danse mused out loud. “Whatever it is, I'm sure it must be important, but does it really merit this level of secrecy?”

“Depends what she has to say,” said Margot, as he took another sip of water. “Hey, uh... Danse? Will you sleep with me tonight?”

Danse sprayed water across the room.

“ _I beg your pardon?”_

“No need to look quite so horrified,” Margot said dryly. “I'm not that hideous. At least, I hope not. Either way, I'm not trying to proposition you. I really did just want to sleep... and maybe snuggle a little with my cute new boyfriend until I forget about all the crap we've been through the past couple of days.”

“Oh,” said Danse, breathing out again.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but then he frowned.

“Wait. Snuggle? I'm... not sure I know how to do that, soldier. What exactly does it entail?”

Margot carefully removed the empty can of water from his hand, set it down on the floor, then threw her arms around him, knocking him onto his back. She snuggled up to him, putting her arms around his chest with a quiet, contented sigh.

“It goes something like this,” she told him, smiling slightly. “Except you have to reciprocate, or it's just me awkwardly hugging you while you lie there, frozen in terror. And that's no fun.”

Danse started to smile.

“Oh, I see. Like this?”

He put his arms around her and pulled her in closer, nuzzling his face against hers.

“Am I doing it correctly?” he asked, after a moment.

“Yep. Right first time. It's like you've been snuggling all your life.”

Danse smiled into her neck.

“That sounds like a delightful way to spend one's existence. If somewhat irresponsible. After all, there are more important things in life than snuggling.”

“Name three.”

“Uh...”

Danse found that he couldn't bring even one to mind. He gave up.

“Perhaps we should just maintain our current position.”

“Excellent suggestion, Danse. I concur.”

They lay there quietly, wrapped in each other's arms.

“I think we've done this before, actually,” Danse said, after a while. “The last time you asked me to stay here with you, we woke up like this. And in the barracks in Sanctuary Hills, after we fell asleep on the couch.”

Margot looked blank.

“I don't remember.”

“I suppose not,” said Danse, crestfallen; he certainly did. The memories which involved Margot were fresher and more vivid than anything he recalled from the years before their first meeting. It was as though he'd been dead for years and years, only to be brought to life at last by her presence; the world seemed more vibrant and beautiful when she was around. Colors were brighter, sounds more intense... even his heartbeat seemed stronger and faster when she was nearby. Somehow she made everything feel more real - even him.

Margot smiled at him.

“I wish I did, though. This is nice.”

“It is,” Danse agreed, starting to smile in return. “I like being here with you.”

“I like it too,” said Margot. Her voice was soft in his ear; it reminded him of clouds and dreams, and the delicate petals of the flowers he'd given her at Abernathy Farm. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“If only we could,” said Danse regretfully.

He found himself unexpectedly saddened by the thought that one day, this moment would be a memory too. He stroked an untidy lock of hair back from her face and watched her smile again.

 _Let's run away_ , he wanted to tell her. _We'll go where nobody can find us. Change our names and call each other Margot and Danse in secret. We could go west and start new lives in a city of neon lights, desert winds and fickle fortunes, or hole up here in the Commonwealth and make some old house our home. I don't care where we go, or what we do. Just let me lie here like this with you forever._

The silence between them seemed to hum with unspoken possibilities, but when he tried to collect his thoughts into some passionate declaration of love, he found that he couldn't – something in her eyes seemed to have robbed him of all his words. He settled for something rather more mundane.

“How long before you have to meet with Scribe Harper?” he said, silently cursing the lack of poetry in his soul.

“A few hours,” Margot answered. “Long enough to get a little more sleep. I already set the alarm on my Pip-Boy.”

“Wake me up too. I want to make sure you're safe.”

“I will. Goodnight, Danse.”

As he watched Margot close her eyes, Danse decided that snuggling was his new favorite thing. He stared at the ceiling for a while and contemplated telling Margot that he loved her. When he finally turned to look at her, however, he saw that she was already asleep, nestling in his arms and smiling quietly to herself.

“I love you,” he told her anyway, and kissed her on the forehead. “Sweet dreams, Margot.”

*

She looked down at the Gunner tied up in a chair, his hands bound behind his back. He was wearing Ryder's armor but Kellogg's face; when he spoke, it was with the bored, vicious amusement of the man who'd murdered her husband.

“She's claimed him as her own,” he told her, with the smirk she'd tried to tear off his face with her bare hands. “She's coming for him, and you can't stop her. After all, you couldn't stop me from killing your pathetic excuse for a husband – the one who couldn't protect his country or his kid. You couldn't save your neighbors as they suffocated in their pods. You couldn't even save a tiny baby. What makes you think you can save him? She's going to take him away and there won't be a damn thing you can do about it.”

“Fuck you, Kellogg! Danse is mine!” she yelled back. “If she lays a finger on him, I'll tear her to pieces! I won't let her take him away from me!”

“And what if he doesn't want to stay?” Kellogg taunted her. “Why the hell would he? Everyone you love dies, or haven't you noticed yet? The Black Widow. That's what they should call you. Every man you love, you kill.”

She grabbed the baseball bat from the desk in her rage and brandished it at him.

“Shut the fuck up! You don't know anything about me, Kellogg! Not a goddamn thing!”

“Oh, I know everything about you, Margot de Havilland,” he said, with a mocking little laugh. “Why wouldn't I? After all, you and I are two of a kind. Monsters. We dream about blood and death and revenge, and get paid to do other people's dirty work for them. Just a pair of mercenaries, in it for the caps.”

“No!” she screamed. “I'm not like you!”

“Don't lie to yourself, Margot,” said Kellogg scornfully. “You don't fight for the Commonwealth, or the Brotherhood, or the Railroad. You fight because secretly, under all that self-righteousness, you _like_ killing people. Watching your enemies drown in their own blood, especially when they deserve it. Even if they don't, what the hell does it matter? They're in your way. And you don't let anything stand in your way. Not even me.”

“Shut up!”

“Everyone survives at someone else's expense. That's how it works out here,” Kellogg carried on, seemingly oblivious to her rage. He started to smirk again. “We all look out for our own interests in the end, don't we? The only person you really care about saving is yourself... just like me. I couldn't be more proud.”

She shrieked a string of expletives and swung the baseball bat, over and over again.

“Shut up! Just shut up, you _bastard!_ I'll never be like you! Never!”

Kellogg's face fell away in pieces; with all the Institute components in his head, she'd expected to see a metallic skull grinning underneath, but instead, to her horror, she saw another face. One with pale skin, brown eyes, and dark shoulder-length hair curled with meticulous care by a hairdresser named Fabien.

“Too late, Margot. You already are,” came her own voice, from a pair of full scarlet lips.

She looked down in terror at her hands and found that they were no longer her own – they were Kellogg's hands, tanned and scarred.

The seated woman in the Minutemen General's coat laughed at her distress and confusion as the baseball bat clattered to the floor.

“Told you so,” said the other Margot, with a triumphant nod. “You're a monster. Monsters can't save anybody. Your Brotherhood boyfriend is screwed. He'll die in that hole in the ground and there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it. Just accept it - he's gone. Let him go.”

“No!” she sobbed, sinking to her knees. “ _Semper fidelis!_ I won't let go, Danse, I promise!”

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear Ellens sobbing, her words carrying down the hall over the sound of Belasco's tortured screams:

“For I am Steel, I bend but do not break... I will not break... _I will not break!_ ”

“I won't let go,” she said, louder this time, pressing her hands over her ears to drown out the sound of screams rising up around her. “I won't let you go, Danse! I _won't!_ ”

“Let him go.”

“ _No! Danse!”_

*

Margot woke in a panic to find Danse's arms enveloping her like a blanket, comforting and warm. He was asleep and breathing quietly; still protecting her, even now.

“I won't let go,” she told him softly, reaching out to touch his face. “I promise.”

“Hmm?”

Danse stirred a little, confused and drowsy.

“It's okay,” she said quickly, seeing the look on his face. “Nightmares again. Sorry if I woke you.”

Confusion became concern; the brown eyes grew large, worried, anxious. Without a word, he pulled her closer to him. She felt kisses against her forehead, both cheeks, and then another one on the top of her head.

“You're safe,” he told her, his voice still thick with sleep. “Don't worry. I won't let anything hurt you.”

 _I'm not worried about me_ , thought Margot, looking back into his eyes. _I'm worried about you, Danse. I love you, and I don't want to lose you._

The thought made her want to cry. To lose Danse - _her_ Danse, the one who loved her more than all the stars in the sky - was a fear as sharp and sudden as a knife in the gut. She closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him to chase away the agony of her thoughts. She felt the palms of his hands come to rest against her back as he embraced her.

 _He's okay_ , she told herself silently. _He's right here. Nothing's going to happen to him._

She looked up at him again. He was handsome, she thought. The smile was still a little hesitant, but there was something warm and tender in his eyes when he looked at her, and the more she studied his face, the more she found to love; the scars, the fine lines around his eyes which deepened when he smiled, even the faint freckles on his nose which she'd only noticed when she first got close enough to kiss him. All the little imperfections which made him human, no matter what anyone else claimed to the contrary.

“God, I love you, Danse,” she told him, with fierce, sweet sincerity. “So much, it hurts.”

Danse looked troubled.

“Love isn't supposed to hurt.”

“It's the good kind of hurt,” said Margot, trying to smile.

“There's no such thing,” said Danse quietly, touching her face and letting his hand cup her cheek. “Pain means there's something wrong. If something's wrong, I want to know.”

“I – I dreamed that someone was trying to take you away,” said Margot. Her eyes started to well up at the memory. “I think it was the AntAgonizer. I saw Kellogg, and he - ”

“Kellogg is dead,” Danse reminded her. “He will never hurt you or your family again. And I won't allow anybody to take me away from your side. They'd have to pry my cold, dead fingers from yours first.”

“That's exactly what I'm afraid of,” said Margot, shuddering.

Danse made a sympathetic noise.

“That's not going to happen, soldier. I won't let anybody come between us, especially not the AntAgonizer... not that I give much for her chances, now that Elder Maxson's sent Team X-Ray out to bring back some Gunner heads. Her little private army is about to feel the shameful sting of defeat.”

“So much for the utmost sensitivity and care,” said Margot, remembering Maxson's words. “There won't be a mercenary left in the Commonwealth by the time they're through. It'll take _weeks_ to bury all those bodies.”

“Somehow I don't think our brother and sister will mind being avenged by the Brotherhood's finest,” Danse cut in. “I know I'd be honored if our Elder thought that my suffering was worth sending the entire Spec-Ops team to wipe out the enemy in retaliation.”

“Wish we were going out with them,” lamented Margot. “I wouldn't mind busting a few more Gunner heads. Maybe in the morning we could head back out there and - ”

“No,” said Danse firmly. “You've been through enough, Margot. Just stay here and let Paladin Rex and the others do what they do best.”

Margot raised her eyebrows.

“Kick ass, chew gum, and turn everything that gets in their way into a puddle of plasma goo?”

“Nobody does it better,” Danse said proudly. “Except Recon Squad Gladius, of course.”

“And Cait thought _you_ smelled like Power Armor grease and testosterone,” said Margot, with a little hum of amusement. “She should meet Rex and his buddies. I don't think she'd ever recover.”

Green light flooded the room as she turned on the backlight of her Pip-Boy. Danse winced at the sudden change in brightness and closed his eyes.

“Sorry,” said Margot, noticing the look on his face. “Just checking the time.”

“What time is it?”

“Five till eleven. Time to go.”

Margot got out of bed and heard Danse grumble under his breath as he climbed out after her, clearly reluctant to vacate the comfortable confines of his girlfriend's arms.

“It's okay,” she told him. “We'll be back before you know it. Then we can snuggle all night if you want.”

The dark scowl melted away in an instant, and she saw the unmistakable glimpse of affection in his eyes; for all he tried to look grouchy and unapproachable, Margot knew better.

_Danse liked that._

For now, however, snuggling had to wait. She had a meeting to attend with Scribe Harper, who was something of a mystery. All she knew about the girl was that she would soon be bound in matrimony to Elder Maxson; that her attempts to be subtle were amateurish at best; and that she bore an eerie resemblance to a Brotherhood Sentinel who had lost her life over a decade ago.

_I'll have to ask one of the Scribes to page Knight Rockatansky in the morning... no matter where he goes, Deacon always manages to get the inside scoop. I wonder what kind of intel he has on Maxson's fiancée?_

They left the quarters and closed the door quietly behind them. The main deck was dark and quiet. While the lights on the _Prydwen_ only dimmed at night, the shadows had deepened, and the sound of silence seemed to ring louder than any of the noises of the day; there were a few muffled snores from the dormitories, and one or two small clatters from the research stations.

“Sounds like Scribe Neriah's still up,” Margot remarked, as they walked through the airship and heard footsteps near the laboratory area.

“She never did sleep well,” Danse commented. “Insomnia is an unfortunate affliction.”

“She should go to bed before Elder Maxson accuses her of being a synth too,” Margot said, with a roll of her eyes.

“I asked her once why she stays up so late,” said Danse. He looked thoughtful. “She said that her head was too full – that there were too many thoughts and ideas keeping her awake. A very active mind. Did you know that Knight-Captain Cade ran an intelligence quotient test on her and that her score was over 150?”

“Certified genius, huh? That explains it,” said Margot. “Smart people often don't sleep well. Must be the way the brain's wired. Wonder what my excuse is?”

“Well, we've already established that it's not because you're a synth,” Danse said, stepping aside to allow her to be the first to climb the stairs.

“Sure as hell isn't because I'm smart,” said Margot, with a dry little laugh. “If I was, I'd be in bed right now, not sniffing around doing detective work. I have no idea what Scribe Harper wants. She could be about to profess eternal love for me, or push me over the side, or ask me if she can borrow my copy of _Grognak the Barbarian Issue #1._ Who the hell knows.”

Danse frowned.

“I doubt she'd go to this sort of trouble to ask you to borrow a comic book, soldier.”

“Have you _seen_ the lengths Quinlan goes to for the sake of his comic book collection?” said Margot, grinning. “She probably heard I've got a copy and doesn't want to make him jealous. After all, he is her fairy godmother. If she upset him, he might turn her into a frog, and then where would we be?”

“Margot, you're being unkind,” Danse scolded her. “Proctor Quinlan has devoted his life to serving the Brotherhood of Steel. Why wouldn't he be pleased to see our Elder get married? We all are. This is a joyful occasion for everyone in the Brotherhood.”

“Well, I don't see you jumping for joy, Danse,” Margot said critically.

“For the record, I'm delighted for Arthur,” said Danse, with a completely neutral expression. “He's going to have the family he always wanted.”

“And off the record?”

She saw him hesitate.

“Perhaps I'm a little envious,” he admitted, after a moment. “The Brotherhood of Steel is my family, and I know how fortunate I am to have my brothers and sisters around me again. But it's not quite the same as having parents or siblings. People bonded to you by blood, as well as Steel. A past... and a future.”

Margot understood in an instant.

“You wanted a family too.”

Danse nodded morosely, and she felt her heart swell with sympathy. The privileges of marriage and fatherhood had been denied to him forever, through no fault of his own; a quietly-cherished dream of family, dashed to pieces by the fateful discovery that he was a synth. She wanted to hug him and reassure him that he wasn't alone - that _she_ would be his family, because she loved him, and she was sure that Shaun would too. But they were on the _Prydwen_ , and that was impossible. She settled for giving his arm a friendly squeeze.

“Hey, you've still got me. Your devoted sister in Steel.”

He made a brave attempt at a smile.

“Then I should consider myself very fortunate indeed. Come on, let's go. You'll be late for your rendezvous with Scribe Harper.”

“And what a tragedy that would be,” Margot muttered, but she followed him anyway.

Chalk drawings smudged underfoot as they crossed the upper catwalk, which was littered with discarded books and toys. Margot almost tripped on a purple rubber alien; it made an indignant squeaking sound as she nudged it aside with her foot.

“We really need to remind the Squires to keep this area clear,” Danse noted, with some concern, as they picked their way through a fleet of toy cars and Nuka-Cola trucks. “These discarded toys are a potential trip hazard and could cause injury.”

“I'll speak to Scribe Adonato and see if she can find a safer place for them to play,” Margot assured him. “I don't want anyone ending up in the sick bay with a broken leg because they tripped over a teddy bear.”

Danse looked perturbed.

“A Brotherhood Knight defeated by a child's plaything. It doesn't bear thinking about.”

Margot laughed as they passed a small army of teddy bears and toy aliens, set in a neat combat formation. The improvised toy soldiers were led by their commander-in-chief, Jangles the Moon Monkey, who was dressed for battle in a dented combat armor breastplate and armed with the most lethal weapon in the Squires' arsenal - a frying pan. His glassy stare and fixed plastic grimace seemed to follow them to the door, as if he were challenging them to take on his army.

“All right, I'd better go see what the future Mrs. Maxson wants,” Margot told Danse, once she reached the threshold of the forecastle deck. “Stay here - but if you hear screaming, please come and investigate, okay? One of us might need rescuing. Hopefully it won't be me this time.”

Danse saluted.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Margot's lips curved upward. She could get used to that kind of treatment, she thought.

_Yes, sir..._

She opened the door and stepped outside. A gust of wind whipped the military beret from her head as she stepped out onto the forecastle deck; she lunged for it before it could be blown away and over the side, and managed to grab it just in time. She saw the petite figure standing at the end of the long, narrow deck, wrapped in a thick overcoat and staring out at the restless sea. As Margot stood up and replaced the beret on her head, embarrassed that her attempt at a casual entrance had been foiled by the elements, Scribe Harper turned around and gave a start.

“Oh,” she said, looking flustered. “It's you, Paladin... I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. Honestly, I didn't think you were going to show up.”

“Why?” said Margot, immediately annoyed. “You think I'm unreliable?”

Scribe Harper flushed with embarrassment and looked away.

“No, it's not that,” she said. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to imply that your character was deficient in some way. It's just that... every time I've seen you since I arrived, you've always been on your way to do something else. I figured the woman who destroyed the Institute probably had more important things to do than talk to someone like me.”

“If you assumed I was too busy to talk, then why approach me in the first place?” said Margot, somewhat placated, but still unable to hide her irritation completely. “I don't really understand why you'd want to talk to me, of all people. Is there some kind of problem? Because when it comes to the Brotherhood of Steel and internal disputes, my track record is a little... _ehhh_...”

She made a motion with her hand to indicate, as best she could in a single gesture, that her history of following orders from superiors had been somewhat erratic in recent months, and that she and Elder Maxson were still trying to keep each other at arm's length.

“I mean, I don't even know what it is you want from me,” she continued. “Whatever the issue is, I'm sure there are people on board much better qualified to help than I am. Why ask me?”

“Because Scribe Haylen said you'd listen,” Scribe Harper answered meekly. “She told me that when nobody else would listen to her, you did. And... well, I overheard you talking to Knight-Sergeant Ellens. Not on purpose,” she added hurriedly, seeing the flare of anger in Margot's eyes. “I'm sorry, ma'am, it wasn't my intention to eavesdrop. I was passing on the catwalk overhead and caught some of the conversation, that's all.”

“That conversation was _private_ ,” said Margot, in the stiff, curt tones Danse adopted when he strongly disapproved of something. “Knight-Sergeant Ellens was speaking to me in confidence about a deeply personal subject, and she would be profoundly distressed to find out that someone had overheard our discussion. Whatever you heard, you keep to yourself. Is that clear, Scribe?”

“Yes, Paladin. I'm very sorry,” said Harper, her voice dropping to an embarrassed mumble. Margot wasn't sure if the girl's shoulders really were that slight, or whether it was just the effect of cringing humiliation which made her look so small. “But with respect, ma'am, I think Knight-Sergeant Ellens looked a little happier when I saw her in the mess hall later. Whatever you said to her, it helped. I'm hoping you can help me too. I... I really need some advice.”

 _Since when did I become the Brotherhood's official agony aunt?_ thought Margot. Irritation rubbed up against her thoughts again, like an itch demanding to be scratched, but she pushed it away, reminding herself that she'd been disgruntled about being bothered in the mess hall, but that it had turned out to be something important and worthwhile.

She sighed.

“All right, let's hear it. What's the problem? Homesickness? Moral dilemma? Boy trouble?”

_If it's which color napkins to choose for the wedding rehearsal dinner, or whether Liberty Prime should be on the guest list, I will not be impressed. This had better be a matter of actual import, or I'm going back to bed._

Harper toyed nervously with the sleeve of her overcoat.

“I'm supposed to give Elder Maxson an answer to his proposal by tomorrow,” she said, looking away again across the moonlit sea. “Everyone back home in Lost Hills was so proud that I was sent out here to be his wife. My parents, my friends... all our brothers and sisters in Steel are looking forward to the wedding. Everybody keeps telling me what an honor it is to have been chosen to marry an Elder and help him carry on the Maxson bloodline. The thing is...”

The younger girl gulped, and turned back to face her.

“... I'm not sure I want to.”

Margot's eyes widened in horror. She envisioned Elder Maxson bellowing accusations of treachery and espionage – a trial, a verdict, a firing squad. She and Danse would both be blamed for sabotaging the engagement and scaring away Maxson's bride, because she was his mentor and where she led, he was honor-bound to follow. They would kill her first, and then him. And Shaun... what would happen to Shaun? Would he be left behind to grieve for his dead mother for all eternity, or would the Brotherhood come for him as well, because he was a synth and a de Havilland, and therefore twice a traitor? She could think of a dozen different ways a situation like this could end, and none of the results were happy.

“Oh no,” she said, backing away and shaking her head. “No, no, no. Sorry, but interfering with an Elder's wedding plans is _way_ above my pay grade. I'm out.”

Harper's eyes were growing larger; panic was beginning to shine in their baby-blue depths. As Margot turned to leave, she blurted out:

“Paladin, wait – please! I need your help!”

 _Nope nope nope,_ screamed Margot's instincts, but her conscience made her stop and look back over her shoulder. The least she could do was make sure that there was nothing sinister going on, she told herself. If anything bad were to happen to the girl because she hadn't asked her the important questions, she would never forgive herself for failing to intervene.

“Do you feel unsafe or fearful in Elder Maxson's company?” she said carefully. “Has he been unkind to you, or mistreated you in any way? Is there an immediate threat to your health, safety or welfare which requires urgent intervention on my part?”

“No, but - ”

Margot breathed out.

“Then I'm sorry, Scribe Harper, but I'm afraid I can't help you,” she replied, still trying to ignore the lingering sensation of guilt taking root in her chest. “I'm not exactly in the Brotherhood's good books right now – in fact, I'm about one major infraction away from being executed for treason. And while there are lots of good reasons to risk my life for the sake of a sister in Steel, I don't think a case of pre-wedding jitters really qualifies.”

“I - ”

“Look, I understand if you're nervous about getting married,” said Margot, more patiently. “Hell, I was a bride once. I got so nervous the day before my wedding that I almost called the whole thing off. If you really are having second thoughts about marriage and don't want to go through with this, then you can always say no. That's your prerogative as a bride. You make whatever choice you feel is right. But please don't ask me to talk you into leaving if you're undecided, because that's not something I can do.”

“But - ”

“I'm sorry, sister, but this is a decision you're going to have to make on your own. I can't help you with this one. Goodnight.”

She heard a muffled noise behind her as she walked away; a stifled sob, which ended in the snuffling sound of someone crying quietly. Margot's heart sank as she turned around and saw the tears streaming down Scribe Harper's face.

“Please, ma'am, don't go,” the young woman begged. “Please! Nobody else will listen, and I – I don't know what to do...”

Margot felt the last of her resolve crumble.

_Damn it. This isn't just pre-wedding nerves, is it? It's just as well I prepared instructions for Codsworth in the event of my demise, because helping a runaway Brotherhood bride is going to get me killed for sure. But I can't just walk away from someone who needs my help. Preston would hate it. Piper would yell at me. Curie would look sad and ask why I wasn't going to help her, and Nick would look at me like I was the biggest heel in the world for not saving a damsel in distress. And the worst part is, they'd be right. I can't abandon my sister in Steel in her hour of need._

Resigned to her fate, she let her shoulders slump.

“All right, you win,” she sighed. “But just so we're clear on this, Scribe, this discussion is _strictly_ off the record. I'll do my best to provide appropriate support and guidance where possible, but ultimately, the decision is yours and I cannot make it for you. And if you decide that you want out, then we never had this conversation. Understood?”

Scribe Harper nodded tearfully and sat down on a wooden crate.

“Good,” said Margot. She sat down, cross-legged, on the deck beside the seated Scribe. “Now what exactly is the problem here? Were you sent out here against your will? Or do you just think Maxson is a giant butt now that you've met him in person? You didn't tell him you'd rather marry a Deathclaw, did you? There may not be any coming back from that one.”

Scribe Harper giggled nervously, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

“No, I didn't tell him that. Actually, I didn't really say anything. We've hardly spoken at all, apart from the proposal. I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with him and I don't even _know_ him. What's he really like? As a person, I mean?”

“Well,” Margot began, uncomfortably aware of how intently the girl was looking at her, “Elder Maxson is very brave, and highly skilled in combat - you've probably already heard the story about the Deathclaw and how he got his scar. He's good at strategy and speeches. Not quite so good when it comes to the warm fuzzy aspects of human interaction. But he always puts the needs of the Brotherhood before his own, and he'll fight to the death in its defense.”

“Oh,” said Scribe Harper. Her face fell a little. “So he cares more about war than people?”

“I wouldn't say that,” said Margot, with care. “In fairness to our Elder, it's his _job_ to care about war. He's tasked with the survival of the Brotherhood of Steel and with making the right decisions for the men and women under his command, each and every time. That kind of responsibility can weigh heavily on a person - I know there's not a single waking moment when I don't think about the Minutemen and worry if I'm doing a good job being their leader.”

Scribe Harper looked overawed.

“Of course - you're the General of the Minutemen, aren't you? I still can't believe you were able to destroy the Institute with just a few wastelanders for help. You did what the combined might of all our brothers and sisters couldn't, and took down one of the Brotherhood's greatest foes. Is that why you and Elder Maxson don't get along? Scribe Haylen said you and he aren't exactly on the best of terms.”

Margot smiled and shook her head.

“I think he's a little jealous that I beat him to the punch... but no, it's not that. We had a falling-out over a pretty big issue and I don't think we've quite forgiven each other for some of the things that were said.”

“About Paladin Danse?” said Scribe Harper instantly. “I heard that he was a synth and you wouldn't kill him when Elder Maxson told you to. That's it, isn't it? So why _did_ you disobey orders? Why didn't you kill him?”

“Because Danse isn't a machine, or some kind of monster,” Margot answered, trying to ignore the rush of fierce, protective instinct which arose whenever someone spoke of Danse in anything less than glowing terms. “He might be made a little differently from the rest of us, but he's a good person, and after all he did to serve the Brotherhood, I couldn't let our order cast him aside like he didn't matter - like he was _disposable._ He's not disposable. He's brave, honest and kind, and as loyal a soldier as you could ever hope to meet. I'm very proud to be his mentor.”

Scribe Harper smiled faintly.

“You really care about him, don't you, Paladin?”

Margot felt a little extra color rush to her cheeks. She'd tried to say it in a light, offhand manner, the way people remarked on the weather or how well the crops were growing, but it was hard not to talk about Danse without thinking about his patience and kindness, or recalling the warmth in his voice when he'd clasped her long-lost pearls around her neck and told her that she looked beautiful.

“I think we're going a little off-topic here, Scribe Harper,” she said quickly. “Let's get back on track. So you're worried about getting married because you don't really know Elder Maxson? Is that it?”

“Kind of,” Scribe Harper admitted. “He's been very polite and gracious, but he seems so... well, so _cold_. I tried talking to him a little when we first met, but it was hard to know what to say. He wasn't very forthcoming.”

“I'll admit that Elder Maxson isn't the easiest guy to get to know,” Margot said, with her best attempt at tact. “He comes across as a little aloof sometimes, but it's not because he doesn't care. He does - in fact, I think he cares more deeply than he lets on. The thing is, he isn't the kind of man who can afford to wear his emotions on his sleeve. He knows the entire Brotherhood of Steel is watching his every move and that he can't allow himself to show any kind of weakness, so he hides all his feelings, deep down, where nobody else can see.”

 _I should know,_ she told herself. _I do the same damn thing myself. I guess Maxson and I have more in common than we'd like to admit. No wonder we're always giving each other a hard time. Two big egos competing to be the center of attention is always going to end in a fight._

“I think he likes you, though,” she added, with a little smile. “Danse and I heard him talking about you earlier.”

“Oh?” said Scribe Harper, surprised. “What – uh, what did he say?”

“He said you seemed nice, and that he hoped you'd stay,” Margot replied. “That it would be nice not to have to face the trials of being the Brotherhood's leader all on his own. I think having someone kind and trustworthy to confide in would be a great relief to him. In fact, I suspect you might be just the kind of person he needs in his life.”

Scribe Harper blushed.

“Oh... I see. So he does like me?”

“As far as I can tell. Maybe you should spend some more time with him and find out how he really feels about all this,” Margot suggested. “I'm sure he'd appreciate having someone to talk to who understands duty, and how much it sucks being railroaded into a position of power you never asked for. Having everyone else's hopes riding on you is a hell of a thing - believe me, I know. One day I step out of the freezer to find my husband dead and my baby boy gone, and the next thing I know, I'm the leader of the Minutemen and the last, best hope for the Commonwealth. I wasn't trained for _any_ of this. I used to be a lawyer, back before the bombs _._ I was hoping I'd get to be the Massachusetts Attorney-General one day. Unfortunately for me and my career path, the apocalypse had other ideas.”

“That's right,” said Harper curiously. “You're Pre-War, aren't you? And you were married... you had a husband. What was he like?”

A warm, fond smile crept across Margot's face at the mention of her late spouse. For a moment, she forgot everything – the grief, the guilt, the bitterness of losing him – and found only joy in the memory of her husband's warm eyes and ready smile.

“Nate was a wonderful man,” she said eventually. “Funny and fearless, and charming, and so sweet. We adored each other, although I'll admit that we had our rough patches here and there. He found it difficult to adjust to civilian life after all those months spent away on the front lines – he had a hard time trying to come to terms with things, you know? But we were married, we had our son, and we were just about as happy as anyone could be. And then one day the world ended. Now he's gone.”

“I'm sorry,” said Scribe Harper quietly. “It's hard to let go of someone you love.”

“It is, isn't it?” Margot remarked. “I imagine it must have been difficult for you to say goodbye to your family and friends and travel all the way out here.”

“It was a little scary,” the younger woman agreed. “Leaving behind everything I ever knew, coming out here to the East Coast where I didn't know anyone... and then just when I was getting to know my brothers and sisters at the Citadel, I got shipped out here and I had to say goodbye to everyone all over again. Even Oliver.”

Margot's forehead creased in perplexity.

“Who's Oliver?”

Scribe Harper looked startled.

“Sorry, I mean Knight Lowden. He was one of the soldiers in charge of protecting me while I was at the Citadel. He used to keep me company when I wasn't being trained on how to be an Elder's wife. All those boring classes about diplomacy and statecraft... we used to make jokes about it. He was so funny, and he was always there to listen. I miss him.”

 _Uh-oh,_ thought Margot, with a sinking heart. _I think I'm seeing something here._ Against her better judgment, however, she found that she couldn't leave it alone:

“You miss him?”

“Yes,” said Scribe Harper, going pink. “Paladin, that's what I'm worried about. I know I should love the man I'm going to marry, and that he's good and brave. But I keep thinking about Oliver and how kind he was to me, and I can't help wondering - ”

“What might have been,” Margot interrupted. “I think I'm beginning to understand. You feel caught up in something that's much bigger than you, and you feel powerless. Like the choices have all been made for you and there's nothing you can do to change any of it.”

Scribe Harper nodded frantically.

“Yes. _Yes._ That's exactly it! I knew you'd understand! Everyone expects me to do the right thing and marry our Elder, someone I don't even know, much less love. Maybe I could _learn_ to love him, over time, but... I don't know. What if I can't? If this doesn't work out, then I'll have let down everyone back home in Lost Hills. The whole Brotherhood of Steel. There's so much at stake here, and I just don't know if I'm up to the task of being an Elder's wife. Maybe I should go back to the Citadel and ask if they can send someone else.”

“Is that what you want?” said Margot, raising her eyebrows.

“I don't _know_ what I want,” said the girl fretfully. She picked at a loose stitch near the cuff of her overcoat. “I want to do my duty to the Brotherhood of Steel, but I want to be happy too. I feel like I have to pick one or the other. I know you said you can't tell me what to do, Paladin, but if you were me, what would _you_ do?”

Margot looked at the young Scribe and her plaintive, worried expression. She tried to place herself in the girl's shoes. What would she do?

“I'd probably say _“the hell with arranged marriages, fuck you all, I never signed up for this crap”_ , and run off to marry whoever I wanted,” she said frankly. “But I think our emotions are starting to get in the way of decision-making here, and this is a _really_ big decision, so we need to be smart about this. I suggest we both take a step back, set aside our personal feelings on the issue, and look at the facts of the matter alone, like they trained me to do in law school.”

 _Just don't tell Danse I'm capable of being logical and dispassionate,_ she wanted to add. _He'll ask me why I don't always listen to my head instead of my heart, and then I'd have to start wondering about that too. Truth is, I always hated having to be so clinical when it comes to making big decisions. But this isn't some treaty which I can renegotiate in a year or two if I screw up a few terms and conditions. Harper's whole future is at stake and she's counting on me to get this right first time. I need to keep a cool head and make sure everyone gets the best possible outcome here, or we're all screwed._

“So as I understand it, you were volunteered for this whole arranged marriage deal,” she said, trying to hide her growing apprehension beneath an attorney's calm and professional demeanor. “Did you agree to do it, or did they just bundle you up in a Vertibird and send you anyway?”

“When the Elder Council first put my name forward for consideration, everyone encouraged me to go,” Scribe Harper answered. “I wanted to do my part for the Brotherhood and uphold the honor of the Lost Hills chapter, so I agreed. Everyone said he was the finest man who ever lived, and I was convinced that I'd fall in love with him the moment we met. But when I had to leave the Citadel, I started thinking that maybe I shouldn't go after all. I mean... why would someone like Elder Maxson want someone like me? I'm nothing special. I'm just a Scribe, and not even a very good one. I went to all my lessons and studied for hours, but I still don't know anything about warfare, or diplomacy. And I _liked_ spending time with Oliver, and - ”

“Whoa, okay, hold on,” Margot interrupted. “Let's go back a little. So you did actually consent to the marriage? Nobody forced you to do this?”

“Oh, no,” said Scribe Harper earnestly. “Nobody forced me! I'll admit I was nervous when I first left, but I thought it was going to be a great opportunity. Leaving behind a dull life and going off to marry a legendary hero, like a princess in a storybook... I was kind of excited about it, actually. It all sounded so romantic. Now I'm not so sure. I mean, it's not that I _dislike_ Elder Maxson or anything. I've met a lot of people who seem cold on the outside, but aren't really... maybe he's nice and he just doesn't know how to show it. I just wish I knew what I was really getting into with all this - it would be so much easier if I just _knew_ , you know?”

“Okay, so you consented to the match, but you're reluctant to rush into anything because Elder Maxson is an unknown quantity as far as you're concerned,” said Margot cautiously. “Not an unreasonable position to adopt, in the circumstances. So how about Knight Lowden? What was the deal with him? Were you two just good friends, or was it a little more than that?”

“I - I kind of liked him,” Scribe Harper confessed, blushing. “He was cute. Kind and funny, like you said your husband was... and I think he liked me too. But if he was really in love with me, wouldn't he have begged me to stay? You'd do anything to keep your true love by your side, wouldn't you?”

Margot thought again of Danse, and everything she'd risked to keep him safe, and nodded.

“Absolutely.”

“I thought he might ask me to change my mind and stay, but he didn't,” said Scribe Harper, rather mournfully. “He seemed a little sad that I was going, but he still let me go without putting up any kind of fight... I guess he wasn't really in love with me after all. Not really. I mean, there's a difference between being really, truly in love and just having a crush on someone. Right?”

“Right,” Margot confirmed. Although she'd been infatuated with the handsome lead actor of _The Adventures of Captain Cosmos_ in her youth, it hadn't been enough for her to write fan letters begging for his hand in marriage – unlike her friend Diana, who'd been inconsolable for days after learning that the object of her affection already had a real-life Stella Skyfire.

“Because I think that was all it was, really. Just a crush,” said Scribe Harper sadly. She looked down at her feet. “Even if I went back to the Citadel and told him that I'd rather marry him instead, I don't think he would. I guess Elder Maxson is my only option at this point. At least _he_ wants me to stay.”

“Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves,” said Margot. She looked up at the girl and gave her an encouraging smile. “So let's say your buddy Oliver is a no-go due to a lack of enthusiasm. That doesn't necessarily mean that you have to settle for Elder Maxson instead. You don't _have_ to be with either of them. You don't even have to stay in the Brotherhood if you don't want to. Going it alone is always an option. I don't suppose that option holds any appeal?”

Horrified, Scribe Harper shook her head.

“Oh no, I could never leave the Brotherhood of Steel!” she gasped. “They're my family! What would you say if somebody asked you to leave _your_ family?”

“Fuck that,” Margot said instantly. “All right, you've made your point. Let's take a second to recap here, shall we? Now if I've followed all this correctly, you don't want to leave the Brotherhood, you don't _really_ want to marry Knight Lowden, and you're not sure about Maxson. You were okay in principle with marrying him at the start of all this, but now that reality's setting in, you're getting a little jittery, because you don't even know the guy and people are already expecting you to spend the rest of your life with him. Am I correct in my understanding?”

Scribe Harper nodded silently.

“All right, that's good. Glad I'm still able to follow a narrative. I wasn't sure what two hundred years in the deep-freezer might have done to my brain,” Margot said, half-jokingly, and saw a little smile return to the girl's face. “Seriously, though, I think I'm starting to understand where you're coming from. Would you feel better about making a decision if you felt that you knew Elder Maxson well enough to make a call either way?”

“I think I would,” said Scribe Harper, nodding again.

“But you have to make a decision tomorrow, which doesn't leave you with a lot of time,” Margot pressed on. “All right, next question. Does it actually _have_ to be a yes or no answer?”

“According to our traditions, a bride has forty-eight hours to answer a formal proposal of marriage,” answered Scribe Harper. “That was all it said in the Codex.”

“So it doesn't explicitly _say_ that you can only answer yes or no,” said Margot. She pondered this for a moment, then said:

“Okay. Here's the plan. If yes and no aren't the only choices on offer, then perhaps you could give Elder Maxson a different answer. How about “maybe”?”

Scribe Harper's delicate blonde eyebrows shot up.

“ _Maybe?_ What do you mean, Paladin?”

“You could always tell him that you're amenable to the idea of marriage, but that you want to get to know him better before you say yes,” said Margot reasonably. “You want to be sure that your next step will be the start of something wonderful and not a great big mistake, right? So if you're not quite ready to make a decision yet, tell him that you need more time to decide whether you can properly devote your whole life to him and be the best Elder's wife you can be. It's a big decision, after all, and you want it to be the right one - for his sake _and_ yours.”

Scribe Harper brightened.

“That's an option? I can _say_ that?”

“If the Codex doesn't prohibit it outright, then as far as I'm concerned, the time-honored legal principle of _nulla poena sine lege_ applies,” said Margot confidently. “So yes, you absolutely have the right to say “maybe” and think about things some more. If anyone tries to tell you otherwise, give them the ol' one-finger salute and tell them to take a long walk off a short flight deck.”

“What if I change my mind, though?” said Scribe Harper, suddenly looking worried. “What if I get to know Elder Maxson better and I don't like him enough to spend the rest of my life with him?”

“Hey, if you decide that he's a jerk and that you'd rather try your luck elsewhere, just tell him the wedding's off and catch the next flight back to Lost Hills,” Margot said lightly. “But if you do change your mind, you might want to do it _before_ the wedding. I'm not sure how the Brotherhood handles divorce proceedings. There's probably a crap-ton of forms to fill out. That or they just hand both parties a Gatling laser each and say _“May the best divorcee win”_. Which would certainly save on legal fees, but damn, talk about an adversarial justice system.”

Scribe Harper started to laugh.

“Maybe. _Maybe._ You know what... I actually feel a little better. Not so helpless.”

“Good,” Margot said, trying not to let her relief show. “You're the one in control here, Scribe. If Elder Maxson wants you to be his beautiful, blushing Brotherhood bride, then he's going to have to put in the time and effort to win you over. Who knows, he might even succeed. Either way, it buys you a little more time to think about what you really want from this situation. I hope that helps.”

“Thank you, Paladin,” said Scribe Harper sincerely.

“Margot,” said Margot, on a sudden, generous impulse. “I think we can dispense with formalities under the circumstances. What's your name, Scribe? Let me guess - it's Guinevere, right? Every Arthur needs a Guinevere.”

Scribe Harper smiled.

“Close... it's Gwendolyn. But my friends call me Gwen.”

“Well, maybe one day our Elder will have the privilege of being allowed to call you Gwen when everyone else has to call you Mrs. Maxson, the First Lady of Steel,” said Margot. “Or Madam Elder. Or, uh...”

She hesitated.

“What _do_ you call the wife of an Elder, anyway?” she said at last. “Do you get some kind of special honorary rank when you hook up with the head of the Brotherhood?”

Scribe Harper shook her head.

“No. I'll be Mrs. Maxson. If I accept, of course. Or I can remain Scribe Harper - many Brotherhood brides choose to keep their last name when they marry. But I think people might be a little upset if I told them I didn't want to take the Maxson name.”

“Hey, if you're going to be part of the Maxson dynasty, you might as well go all out,” Margot said cheerfully. “Get him to make you a fancy coat and some kickass Elder's wife Power Armor too. I know I'd take every perk going if I ever got married to an Elder. Just make sure you've got a good pre-nup agreement, so you still get to keep the Power Armor even if things don't work out.”

“Do you think you'll get married again one day, sister?” Scribe Harper asked.

“No plans to remarry,” Margot said, rather quicker than she'd intended. “I haven't even buried my first husband yet. He's still in his cryopod in Vault 111. I was hoping Elder Maxson would agree to help me give him a proper military funeral, Brotherhood-style.”

“If he doesn't, then I _definitely_ won't marry him,” said Scribe Harper stoutly. “After you took the time to talk to me, I'll do everything I can to make sure your husband gets a decent funeral. Even if I have to warn _my_ husband that he doesn't get to be my husband unless he helps you.”

Margot smiled.

“You don't have to do that, but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. Thank you, sister.”

“No, thank you,” Scribe Harper responded. “Having someone to talk to about this really helped. I think I'll sleep a little better tonight, knowing that I've got options.”

Margot looked discreetly at her Pip-Boy.

“Speaking of which, it's getting late. Mind if we call it a night?”

“No – of course,” said Scribe Harper. “Thank you, Margot. You've been very kind to me.”

“Not really,” said Margot, suddenly ashamed. “I was being a jerk earlier. I haven't been as polite and patient with you as I should have, and I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Don't worry about it,” Scribe Harper replied. “I know we've both been under a lot of strain lately. I hope it wasn't wrong of me to ask for your help. It was just that – well, Scribe Haylen recommended you personally. She said if anyone else was willing to put everything on the line and play devil's advocate to save a fellow soldier, it would be you.”

“Well, I used to be an advocate,” Margot conceded. “And if Knight Rhys is to be believed, I'm almost certainly in league with the Devil. You'd think so, anyway, the way he acts whenever I tell him to do something... you've never seen such filthy looks.”

Scribe Harper laughed, more readily this time; the carefree sound rang out in the night.

“You certainly have a way with words, Margot!”

“Hey, at least I'm good for something,” said Margot, with a more sheepish grin. “Never thought I'd turn my hand to marriage counseling, but what the hell. I guess I didn't do a bad job. I mean, you aren't screaming and running for the Vertibirds, so that's a good sign, right? Let's just hope your husband-to-be doesn't take the word “maybe” too personally.”

“Here's hoping,” said Scribe Harper, with a nervous smile. “Well, goodnight, sister. _Ad victoriam._ ”

“Same to you, sister. Goodnight.”

They left the windswept forecastle deck to the moonlight-soaked clouds and re-entered the _Prydwen_. Danse stood up respectfully at their approach, and saluted.

“Paladin de Havilland. Scribe Harper. I hope everything's all right?”

The two women exchanged glances, and then smiles.

“Yeah, I think everything's going to be all right,” said Margot at last. “Scribe Harper's going to bed. I was hoping I could have a word with you before I turn in, though. Join me on the forecastle deck?”

Danse looked puzzled.

“Why?”

“Well, you said you liked watching the stars,” Margot replied. “There's a few out tonight. Come and see.”

As Scribe Harper bade them goodnight again and headed back down the stairs, Margot led Danse outside and closed the door behind them. As they walked out to the end of the forecastle deck, she found herself breathing a sigh of relief. Harper's company hadn't been unpleasant, but the topic of that conversation had plucked at her nerves like guitar strings; Danse's presence was safer and more reassuring, a comfort she suddenly, desperately craved.

“It's overcast, for the most part,” Danse observed, glancing up at the sky with a small frown. “That's a shame. It must have clouded over after you came inside. Perhaps we should postpone our stargazing and try again some other time.”

“It wasn't the stars I wanted to see,” Margot whispered.

She reached up to kiss him, but Danse pulled away immediately.

“I... don't think this is a good idea, Margot,” he said, looking around anxiously, as if he feared that some eagle-eyed Knight on the ground might spot a pair of tiny silhouettes on the _Prydwen_ in the dark of night, and then overachieve by providing a positive identification on both of them.

“Stick around, Danse,” she replied. “I'm full of terrible ideas. This might be the worst one yet.”

She stood up on tiptoes again to kiss him, and this time, Danse didn't resist. With a little shiver which had nothing to do with the wind or the chill of midnight, he pulled her into his arms and drew a deeper, warmer kiss from her lips.

Margot stole a look at him between kisses, saw the guilty little smile growing on his face, and felt a stray thought and a remembered comment grab her by the heart.

_I know there are rules in the Brotherhood of Steel, and that a synth marrying a human is totally beyond the pale. I'm sure he wouldn't even dream of breaking regulations by asking. But if he did... I'm pretty sure I'd say yes. There's nobody in the world I'd rather spend my days with than Danse._

“I love you,” she said, without even thinking about it.

“I love you too, soldier.”

 _Soldier_ , she thought, trying not to smile into the next kiss. As terms of endearment went, most people would agree that it needed some work, but Danse easily made up for any lack of verbal finesse with the way he looked at her – and with snuggles, she reminded herself. She was looking forward to picking up where they'd left off.

“We should go back inside and get some rest,” Danse said finally. “We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“The Oath of Fraternity,” Margot remembered, with a groan. “Ugh... I can't believe I have to bow before Elder Maxson. That unbelievable bastard.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Danse retorted. “At least you're still human. As far as Arthur's concerned, I'm Liberty Prime's less impressive younger sibling.”

“Jealous. I wish I had a big brother with laser eyes and a nuclear arsenal. Nobody would ever steal my lunch money ever again.”

They laughed as they headed inside, and let a beam of moonlight kiss the spot on the deck where they'd stood.

*

Margot and Danse climbed back into bed and drew the blanket back over them. Without a word, they resumed the cuddle which had been interrupted by the meeting, drawing their arms around each other and snuggling up together as if they'd never been parted in the first place. It seemed so effortless and natural to Margot that she wondered why she hadn't told Danse _months_ ago that she loved him. She must have missed out on a hundred cuddles like these; she could have kicked herself for her procrastination.

_Well, no time like the present. I should know, right? I've been trying to make up for lost time ever since I crawled out of the Vault._

She kissed Danse gently on the nose and saw him smile.

“So what did Scribe Harper want?” he said.

Margot debated whether or not to tell him, or to distract him from the issue with more kisses.

“Some advice,” she said, opting for the truth. “Bad case of pre-wedding nerves.”

“Unsurprising, for a young bride-to-be,” Danse commented. “Life-changing decisions are not to be embarked upon lightly. I hope you were able to give her the reassurance she needed.”

“I did what I could, although she looked pretty nervous,” Margot replied. “Poor girl doesn't even know the guy she's supposed to be spending the rest of her life with. If I were in her shoes...”

Danse stiffened.

“ _What did you say to her?”_ he said suspiciously, his eyes beginning to narrow.

“Don't give me that look,” said Margot, glaring back at him. “I did nothing to try and discourage her from marrying Maxson. As a matter of fact, I was quite complimentary about our Elder. I even encouraged her to spend more time with him before the wedding, so she could get to know him better. If she decides not to go ahead with this, then it's not because I didn't do all I could to persuade her to give Maxson a chance. If anything, he ought to thank me for trying to talk him up. She didn't seem too impressed with his bedside manner.”

The tension left Danse's face in an instant; his expression became one of relief, then took on a more apologetic cast.

“Good... for a moment there, I thought you might have advised her to call the whole thing off.”

“Contrary to popular opinion, Danse, I don't have a death wish,” Margot said, affronted. “For once in my life, I was thinking about the consequences of my actions - like what would happen to you and Shaun if I had to take the flak for Maxson's bride getting cold feet. Give me _some_ credit, please.”

“I should,” Danse admitted. “For a moment there, I assumed the worst. I'm sorry. I know that you want what's best for the Brotherhood, and everyone in it.”

“Even if I have some funny ways of showing it?” Margot said, arching her eyebrows.

Danse opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

“I... no, that wasn't what I meant. I was going to say that you and Arthur always seem to be at odds, but in the end, you both have the same goals in mind. A brighter future for the Commonwealth and the Brotherhood. I only wish you two could see eye-to-eye more often.”

“I'd have to get a box to stand on first,” Margot joked. “Maxson's taller than me.”

Danse smiled.

“I'm taller than you too. Should I start carrying a box around with me on our travels?”

“It would certainly make it easier to kiss you,” Margot pointed out playfully.

“Well, I'm all for facilitating shared goals,” said Danse, his smile growing broader. “And the ability to improvise out in the field is - ”

He stopped as Margot drew closer to him.

“Danse, sweetie,” she murmured, just shy of his lips. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he murmured back.

 _For someone who's never had a girlfriend before, he's not bad at this kissing business,_ Margot thought, sighing happily as their mouths merged and his arms wrapped around her again. _Do synths already know how to kiss, or did he just figure it out on his own?_

Her hand crept unconsciously to his waist, then settled against the curve of his hip. She didn't even know she'd done it until she felt her hand being gently nudged away.

“What?” she said.

Danse shook his head in response.

“I think it's a little soon for... things like that,” he said, lowering his eyes and then averting them entirely. His cheeks were growing pinker by the minute. “I'm sorry, but I'm not really comfortable with - ”

“It's okay,” she murmured. “Some other time, maybe.”

“Maybe,” he agreed.

He kissed her on the cheek instead, and rolled over. Margot turned over too, snuggling up to him and letting her face rest against the back of his neck.

 _Maybe_ , she thought, as she felt herself drifting off to sleep. _I think that might be about to become the most contentious word in the English language. Tomorrow's certainly going to be interesting..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's wondering what Elder Maxson's middle initial stands for, then it's Jonathan (his father's name). It seemed like a logical choice.
> 
> "Nulla poena sine lege" is an ancient legal principle which can basically be summarized by the phrase "everything which isn't forbidden is allowed" - the Latin translation is "no penalty without a law". Some brief research turned up a somewhat opposing principle (i.e., the totalitarian notion that everything which is not forbidden is compulsory) introduced in T.H. White's Arthurian novel "The Once and Future King"... which I found amusing, given that Scribe Harper's first name was very nearly Guinevere. Instead she takes her name (slight spelling difference aside) from Gwendoline Harper, a DC Universe character notable for her identity as a clone - a nod towards the fact that she bears a very striking resemblance to her late cousin, Sarah Lyons.


	16. Blood Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for suicide/suicide attempts and PTSD in this chapter, and possibly next chapter too. Caveat lector and all that.

She looked down at the city as the Vertibird flew overhead. The city lay beneath her like the bloodstained map of a battlefield; its snow-covered streets were littered with the debris of a hundred explosions and painted red with Communist blood at the barricades.

 _Durendal_ , she thought, looking back into the cockpit. But that was impossible. _Durendal_ was the name of a Vertibird she wouldn't see for another two hundred years, or even more. This was January, 2077, and she'd never seen this city, but she knew it from the news reports... and her nightmares.

_Anchorage, Alaska. This is war. And we're winning... but at what cost?_

“Captain Fontaine?” the copilot asked. There was a face there, but not one she recognized. It was a vague sort of blur, with undefined features and a voice she was fairly sure was male. “ETA?”

“Ninety seconds,” replied another voice, heavy with cigarette smoke, and she wanted to weep.

_No. Not him. Not here!_

“Dad!” she cried, lunging forward and grabbing the pilot's arm. “Dad, we can't be here – we have to turn around and go back to Boston! Please, we have to go home! Now!”

“Hold on, honey, we've got work to do here,” her father said gently, calm even in the face of mortal danger. “General Chase says the war's almost over. One more run and a few more dead Commie bastards, and then we can all go home.”

“You must be excited to get back home to Boston, sir,” the copilot piped up cheerfully.

“Oh, you bet,” replied Frank Fontaine, grinning. “Got the telegram from Joanne yesterday. She says Margot's having a boy. I can't wait to meet my little grandson!”

“Dad, no, this is all wrong, _please!_ ” she implored him. “Please! You have to turn around!”

“Honey, you were the one who wanted to be here,” he reminded her, shrugging off her hand. “You _begged_ to let them take you instead of Nate. Now do me a favor and take out some of those Red snipers on the ground so we can get out of here. I'm dying for a cigarette.”

 _No, Dad, you're just dying_ , she thought, with a sob rising in her throat. _I know what happens next._

But there had to be some small chance that she could save him and change everything, she told herself. She had to try, no matter how hopeless it seemed. Maybe this time it would work.

She picked up _Witness Protection_ from the floor and pulled on her safety harness, wishing that Danse were here to help spot for her. She took aim anyway, holding in her breath and then squeezing the trigger.

_Blam._

Blood spattered across a snowdrift as she took out a Chinese sniper on the rooftop. She wondered, biting her lip as she concentrated on her next target, if that was why they called them the Reds. It was the color they made when they died.

Another gunshot. Another blossom of red in the snow.

She took aim again, and fired.

She missed. The sniper up on the bridge didn't. Before she could even scream a warning, the windshield cracked and her father slumped forward, knocking the Vertibird into a death spiral. Blood ran down the controls as she screamed and tried to rouse him.

“Dad!”

“It's too late! Go!” someone in the back of the Vertibird yelled.

“No! Dad! Please – someone help him, _please!_ ” she shrieked. “Don't let him die!”

Suddenly she felt hands around her waist, her emergency line being cut, and then she found herself being flung to safety from the opening of the Vertibird. She landed heavily on her stomach in the snowy grass and rolled over, just in time to watch the aircraft shudder into the ground in an explosion of fire, glass and twisted steel.

“ _Daddy!”_

_*_

Margot woke with the scream still on her lips and burst immediately into tears. The noise shook Danse awake and he sat up in a panic, only to find Margot sobbing at his side. He hugged her before he could even think to speak.

“Danse, I'm sorry,” she wept, as she clung to his chest. “I saw my father, in Anchorage – I couldn't save him!”

Danse looked at her, and the tears running down her face in little black streams, and felt his heart turn inside out with anguish. He understood. Oh, how bitterly he understood the pain of having survived when better men had perished.

He'd hoped that last night would be different. That instead of waking at four in the morning, drenched in his own panicked sweat, he could have slept on and found himself in a sweeter dream – a moment of imagined passion with Margot, or the elusive vision of domesticity which slipped like fog through his fingers every time he tried to bring it back to mind. Of all the things he could have returned to in his memory, however, his subconscious had chosen to return him to the foyer of the GNN Plaza.

He'd seen the ants, and the weeping young man tied to the chair, and he'd come running before his brain could even tell his feet what to do. He'd _known_ what to do. But as he'd scrambled across a floor slick with rain and blood to Belasco's side, the young man had looked up and he'd realized that it hadn't been Belasco after all. It had been Cutler - blond and handsome, eternally young, but with the pallor of death in his cheeks.

“ _You ran to his side, but not mine,”_ Cutler had said bitterly, through bloodless lips. _“Why him, Danse? Why him and not me? Was it because I told you I loved you? Because you were too afraid of my feelings for you to come to my rescue? You left me out there on purpose, didn't you? You wanted me to die!”_

“ _No, I didn't!”_ Danse had cried out in response. _“I tried to save you! I searched everywhere, for weeks – but I was too late. They'd already turned you into one of them! I'm sorry, Chris... I'm so sorry!”_

“ _To think I used to call you my brother,”_ Cutler had responded, his words barbed with spite. _“I should have called you what you really were - a spineless fucking coward! All that time, you were nothing but a fake, a fraud... what the hell was I thinking, leaving my family behind and taking up with you? I died because of you, Danse! Hell, I thought you were worth dying for! But you're not! You're just a machine! Why the hell would anyone die for a machine?”_

He'd stood there, too shocked to move. Cutler had been many things – audacious, roguish, charming, impulsive, sometimes a little thoughtless – but never cruel.

“ _You're not Cutler,”_ he'd found himself whispering. _“What the hell are you?”_

Cutler had only grinned; a cold smile, devoid of laughter and life. His eyes had once been the color of clear skies, but now they were lifeless and dull, and the tears which streamed from them were a ghastly red. The air around him was thick with the smell of blood and decay.

“ _I could ask you the same question, synth. What the hell are you?”_

“ _I'm not a machine,”_ Danse had blurted out, but the words had come out in a pitiful whisper.

“ _Yes, you are.”_

“ _I'm not a machine! You're the one who's not real! You're gone, Cutler! You're dead!”_

“ _Yes, I am. And it's all your fault...”_

With that, the nightmare had spat Danse back out into the real world, and he'd found himself lying in bed; cold and shaking, his skin awash with sweat, the blanket clinging to his arms and legs. He'd been so glad that Margot had been fast asleep, unable to see him in such a sorry state. He'd snuggled in closer to her and closed his eyes, remembering all the times that she'd reassured him that he was a person – one who deserved to be alive. He'd reached out for her hand and felt her clasp it, even in her sleep.

“ _I'm not a machine,”_ he'd whispered.

 _You're real to me,_ he'd remembered her saying, back at the house, as her eyes shone with tears and the fierce, bright, burning love which lent a little extra loveliness to her face. _The Institute may have made you, Danse, but they made you human._

“ _I know I'm not human, but if I love you, then there must be some part of me that's real.”_

_You're more real to me than anything else in this world._

“ _I love you, Margot.”_

_I wish I could tell the whole world how much I love you._

“ _You're my whole world. Without you... ”_

He'd broken off at that point, too ashamed of the tears welling up in his eyes to continue. Instead, he'd closed his eyes tightly and held onto her hand, silently praying for the sunrise to cast out the darkness and chase the nightmares away. But now their roles were reversed, and Danse found Margot clinging to him in the cold, gray hour before dawn. He realized, with a peculiar feeling in his chest which might have been consolation, that he wasn't alone in his suffering.

“It's all right,” he said quietly, stroking the side of her head as she sobbed into his shoulder. “I had nightmares too. I thought it was Belasco, back at the Gunners' base, but it was Cutler... I couldn't save him either. He was already dead.”

Startled out of her crying fit, Margot looked up at him with large, tearful eyes and lifted a hand to caress his cheek. He felt her fingertips brush against the stubble on his jaw.

“Danse... oh, honey. It wasn't your fault. You know that, right?”

“Logically, I know that,” Danse said wearily, as he reached out to wipe the tears from her face. “What you said before – you were right. I doubt my presence would have been enough to prevent his demise. But he's dead and I'm alive, and I keep thinking that it should have been me, not him.”

“Survivor guilt's a bitch, isn't it?” said Margot, sighing. “It never leaves me alone either. Just for once, I'd like to sleep and not dream about anything at all. Except for you.”

“You dream about me?”

This time she smiled.

“Sometimes. You ever dream about me?”

“Sometimes,” Danse confessed. “Although I, uh – I'm not sure you'd approve if I were to elaborate.”

“Oh no,” said Margot, starting to giggle. “We weren't _fraternizing_ , were we? Don't tell me - we were holding hands. Or worse, _kissing_. Let me guess, I was about to give you a great big smooch right in front of Elder Maxson. Like this!”

She puckered up and made smooching sounds, leaning over to his face. Blushing, but trying hard not to laugh, Danse backed away.

“I, uh... Paladin, I don't think we should - _mmfff._ ”

His feeble protests were muffled beneath a very insistent kiss; seeing little point in resisting the inevitable, he relented, and let her hold onto him for as long as she wanted. Secretly, he hoped that she had no immediate plans to let go.

A knock at the door wrenched Margot's lips away from his.

“Whatever it is, I'm busy! Go away!” she yelled.

The knock grew louder and heavier.

“Fuck off!” she bellowed.

“ _This vessel is under my command, Paladin de Havilland, and I will not be told to “fuck off” on my own ship,”_ came the stiff, disapproving tones of Lancer-Captain Kells from the other side, and Margot slapped a hand over her own mouth in horror. _“Whatever it is you're busying yourself with, I doubt it's more important than taking the Oath of Fraternity. Elder Maxson is waiting for you and Danse – wherever he is – on the command deck. So are the rest of your brothers and sisters.”_

“What? Already? But it's not even - ”

Reveille sounded, treacherously on cue. Margot looked at the silently mortified Danse - who was cringing so hard that he seemed to be in danger of sinking into the ground by way of the mattress and bedframe - and then back at the door.

“All right,” she said, as loudly as she dared. “I'll be there in a few minutes, sir. Sorry about that.”

She waited until the man was out of earshot again, then let out a groan.

“ _Shit._ Did that just happen? Did I really just tell Lancer-Captain Kells to fuck off?”

Danse nodded. He looked just like she felt, thought Margot – maybe a little worse. While she wasn't sure whether to blush or blanch at having unwittingly yelled a profanity at a respected senior member of the Brotherhood, her better half appeared to be giving serious consideration to changing his name, seeking facial reconstruction and fleeing the country.

“Damn it, I'm not even up yet and already I think I need to go back to bed,” she complained, throwing aside the blanket and getting up. “I can't wait until we get back to Sanctuary Hills. I'm sick of people bothering me.”

“What about the settlers? They frequently interrupt your daily routine with requests for help,” Danse reminded her, as he got out of bed.

“Then let's move away,” Margot said suddenly. “We could find some quiet little settlement all of our own. Maybe that old lighthouse, a little way up the coast. We could set up a radio beacon and tell everyone there's Deathclaws there, so nobody goes near the place, and then we'd never be disturbed again. Just you, me, Shaun, Dogmeat and Codsworth. How does that sound?”

Danse went to the lockers and pulled out two fresh uniforms – one black, one olive.

“Idyllic,” he told her, with profound sincerity, and handed her the black jumpsuit. “But although it's a romantic notion, I don't think it would work for very long. They'd come looking for the General of the Minutemen sooner or later. Or Paladin de Havilland. Everyone seems to need something from you.”

“Except you,” Margot said, taking care to lower her voice.

“I wouldn't say that,” Danse said mildly. “Even I need to ask you for things once in a while. Ammunition. Backup. Reassurance. Maybe even one of these...”

He leaned over and kissed her full on the lips; she blushed happily and looked up at him, dark eyes filled with affection.

“That's one request I'm _always_ happy to fulfill,” she told him, and kissed him again. “But much as I'd love to stand here and kiss you all day, I think we'd better get ready. Duty calls, right?”

*

On the day the world ended, she'd been standing in front of a mirror, watching Nate get ready for his big speech. He'd rehearsed the words in front of his own reflection, gravitas deepening his soft, calm voice; the sober subject of war had sounded strange, coming from the mouth of a man who had always laughed and joked so easily, but she'd still looked on with admiration.

He'd been worried about speaking in front of a crowd. She'd rubbed his shoulders and reassured him that he would be fine, because he was her wonderful, charming Nate, and he was totally going to knock them dead at the Veterans' Hall. When he'd smiled at last, she'd nudged him aside for long enough to apply her makeup, and then he'd laughed and edged her out of the way again so that he could finish combing his hair.

“ _My beautiful wife,”_ he'd told her, with pride shining in his bright brown eyes. _“I love you, Nora.”_

That had been then. Another time, and another world. Now she stood in front of another man, straightening his collar and reassuring him that his big day would go splendidly. Danse was wearing a fresh uniform, his black hair neatly combed; he smelled of soap and boot polish. He looked as nervous as Nate had been, on the morning of the bombs. As nervous as she was now. She couldn't remember the damn words.

“What are we supposed to say again?” she said weakly.

“It's all right,” Danse said, leaning over her to make a small adjustment to her uniform. “You don't have to know the words off by heart. Just repeat what Elder Maxson tells you to say and everything will be fine.”

Margot raised her eyebrows.

“And what if he says _“repeat after me – I'm a giant butt, my mom's a big green Super Mutant, and I hereby bequeath all my worldly possessions to Elder Maxson, including my bobblehead collection, every back issue of Guns & Bullets, and my favorite sniper rifle”_? What do I do then?”

Danse frowned.

“In that _highly unlikely_ event, Paladin, I think Proctor Quinlan would intervene and gently remind Arthur that rewording the Oath of Fraternity for his own purposes would be an abuse of his authority as Elder,” he said. “Although the fact that the thought even crossed your mind says rather more about you than it does about our Elder. You know he'd never do something like that.”

“I know that,” said Margot, with a tiny smile. “I was only kidding, Danse. You shouldn't take everything I say so _seriously_.”

Danse's face softened.

“Of course I take you seriously. You're one of the best soldiers I've ever served with, and I respect your opinions. Just remember, the Brotherhood of Steel expects you to be on your best behavior during the ceremony. Some of the Initiates are taking the Oath today too, so make sure you set a good example for our younger brothers and sisters.”

“I'll behave,” Margot promised.

“That's my girl,” Danse told her, and kissed her on the forehead.

 _My girl,_ he thought, watching in admiration as he followed her to the door. Stubborn, headstrong and beautiful - and nervous, if the way she was chewing her lower lip was any indication. But everything would be fine. Soon they would both be an official part of the Brotherhood of Steel, bound eternally by honor and Steel and affirmations of loyalty. Something else bound them together, though - something warm and tender which connected them more closely than solemnly-uttered words ever could. He felt it whenever she was near, and whenever their eyes, hands and lips met.

_Maybe I shouldn't have pushed her hand away last night. I know it was the right thing to do – I don't think either us is ready for that kind of intimacy, and if we'd been caught, it would have been the end of everything. It would have been inappropriate to let things continue in that manner. But damn it, I wanted to. More than anything..._

Danse cast the thought aside before it could take hold, and followed her down the ladder to the command deck. Lancer-Captain Kells had been right; everyone was waiting. He saw a sea of faces, some watching with interest, others with morbid curiosity. A few others seemed to be present merely out of fraternal obligation, or for want of anything better to do than see defiant de Havilland and disgraced Danse humbled before their Elder.

As he walked to the front of the room, he spotted Squire Woods sitting on her father's shoulders and waving to him, her little face lit up with sunshine and pride. Knight-Sergeant Woods nodded amicably; beside him, his wife scowled and looked away, as if Danse's presence alone had caused her grave offense.

A little hurt by the snub from Lancer-Initiate Woods, who had always greeted him warmly and with respect, Danse sought out friendlier faces in the crowd. He saw Proctor Ingram; Scribe Haylen, who grinned and gave him a thumbs-up; Knight Rhys, outwardly unmoved by the display of pageantry, although Danse knew better.

He wondered briefly where the members of Team X-Ray were, then remembered that they were out in the wastes, hunting Gunners and missing Vertibirds. Paladin Rex and his happy, homicidal band of brothers were always keen to watch new recruits being inducted into the Brotherhood of Steel, although Danse had never been quite sure why. Perhaps it was their way of keeping an eye on future talent, or perhaps they just liked being able to look on with pride as the Brotherhood's numbers continued to grow – the way he once had, before his career had culminated in utter calamity.

There were two teenage Initiates standing before Elder Maxson. One male, one female; both were dressed in Brotherhood fatigues and freshly-painted combat armor, faces glowing with youthful enthusiasm. How odd it felt, thought Danse, to step forward and take his place alongside them. Like Margot, he was an outsider, battle-scarred and accustomed to the harshness of life in the wastes, but still searching for hope and order amidst the anarchy. He'd chosen to join the Brotherhood of Steel and adopt its ways, but his fellow recruits had both been born into the order, and knew no other way of life; there was no doubt in their young minds that this was both the logical next step and the right thing to do. He wasn't entirely sure that he felt the same, after all that had happened to him – but Margot had believed in him strongly enough to fight for his return, and he couldn't let her down now.

 _This is the right thing to do,_ he told himself, as the knot in his stomach grew tighter. _I was willing to save humanity from itself then, and I still am now. I only hope that Elder Maxson never orders me to fire on someone like Curie, a synth who swore to do no harm. As a Minuteman, I promised to protect the innocent citizens of the Commonwealth. Now I'm about to promise my life to Elder Maxson and the Brotherhood of Steel. Margot promised me that there would be no conflict of interest between our factions. Let's hope we're both able to keep our promises..._

“Good, you're here,” said Proctor Quinlan, at Elder Maxson's right hand. “Very well. I think it's about time we began. Elder Maxson?”

“The Oath of Fraternity is a tradition which dates from the very earliest days of our order,” Elder Maxson began, in firm and authoritative tones. “By making this affirmation, you pledge to uphold the honor and traditions of the Brotherhood of Steel, to defend your brethren in battle, and to commit yourselves utterly to our cause, for so long as you remain in our service. Will you accept this commitment and take the Oath readily, without fear, and of your own free will?”

“I will!” chorused the pair of Initiates.

Danse looked across at Margot, on his left side, watching and waiting for her response.

“I will,” she answered, in a high, clear voice.

That clinched it, Danse decided. If she was in, then so was he.

“I will.”

“First state your names, and then repeat the words of the Oath after me,” Elder Maxson instructed them. “I - ”

“I, Initiate Carrie Rosenfeld - ”

“I, Initiate Neil Blaskowitz - ”

“I, Paladin Margot de Havilland - ”

“I, Knight-Captain Stuart Danse - ”

Elder Maxson began to recite the words of the Oath of Fraternity, and they repeated it slowly, sentence by sentence:

“ - do solemnly swear, before my Elder and my brothers and sisters in Steel, that I will support, uphold and defend the cause of the Brotherhood of Steel against all enemies, foreign and domestic...” Initiate Rosenfeld announced, her voice loud and steady.

“... that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, and that I take this obligation freely, without coercion, doubt or reservation...” Initiate Blaskowitz declared proudly.

“... that I will faithfully perform my duties and obligations as a member of the Brotherhood, for so long as I shall live...” Danse said, his eyes shining with something bright and sincere.

“... and that I will obey the orders of our Elder and the orders of any officers appointed over me, in accordance with regulations and the Codex,” Margot finished, her voice faltering as she stumbled through the final words of the Oath.

“So help me, Creator,” added Initiate Blaskowitz piously.

“So help me, Steel,” Initiate Rosenfeld agreed.

“So help me, God,” Margot said, wondering what would have happened if she'd jokingly added “Atom” instead.

She looked at Danse, waiting for his response. He'd mentioned the Creator before – the vague, undefined higher power referenced in formal Brotherhood assemblies as an umbrella term for the various deities of the wasteland, and used almost interchangeably with the concept of Steel as a unifying focus of belief. She wondered if he believed in anything at all, or if he made reference to the Creator more out of habit and rote-learning than actual religious devotion.

She was surprised to hear the answer:

“So help me, God.”

 _Just when I thought I knew everything about him,_ thought Margot, marveling silently at the endless mysteries of Danse. _I guess there must have been a church somewhere in Rivet City – that or the Institute got curious and decided to see if they could program a synth to believe in God. I wonder what they taught Shaun to believe in, after they took him from me... it certainly wasn't the concept of right and wrong. Bastards._

“Now that you have taken the Oath of Fraternity before your brothers and sisters here present, you must also make a written affirmation, so that you may be incorporated into our Codex, as well as our ranks,” Elder Maxson told them. “Please step forward and take a copy of the Oath for your signature and return. Proctor Quinlan will assist you if needed.”

They stepped forward, one after the other, and each took a piece of paper from the small table which had been set up near the windows. Margot leaned over, read through the written words of the Oath she'd just taken, and signed it neatly. Beside her, Danse did the same.

“Very good!” trilled Proctor Quinlan, taking the signed papers from the hands of the waiting Initiates, and then collecting Margot and Danse's copies. “Please return to your positions. We're almost done here.”

They filed back to where they'd been standing and lined up again, as if for inspection.

“You have sworn to serve the Brotherhood of Steel and its cause faithfully and without hesitation, and duly pledged your allegiance in the sight and hearing of your brothers and sisters. Now, as your final demonstration of fidelity to our order, you must acknowledge the supreme authority of our Elder by bowing before him, in accordance with our traditions,” Proctor Quinlan announced, with bright-eyed fervor.

 _Traditions, my ass,_ Margot thought rudely, as the Initiates bowed obediently. _Maxson himself said that this wasn't required by the Codex. It sure as hell wasn't required by the Pre-War military. If Nate had been asked to bow to his Commander-in-Chief, he would have done what any patriotic red-blooded American would have done and told the President to go fuck himself. I'd tell Maxson where to get off too, but I promised Danse I'd behave._

As Danse knelt to the floor, bowing his head respectfully and saluting with his right fist against his heart, Margot smiled.

_Although I never stipulated how..._

She closed her fist and pressed it against her chest, but as she dropped to one knee and lowered her head, she announced, in a loud, clear voice:

“You know, Elder Maxson, you should consider yourself lucky. I never used to get on my knees for _anyone_ except my husband.”

Proctor Quinlan let out an involuntary squeak of outrage and lost his grip on his paperwork, while Elder Maxson's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Danse made a small, strangled noise which turned into a frantic coughing fit, but it did little to disguise the ripple of laughter which ran through the assembled ranks of Brotherhood soldiers, or the Initiates' snorts of mirth.

Elder Maxson looked down at Margot, with his eyebrows still raised. Margot returned the stare with an angelic smile, and something more diabolical sparkling in her eyes.

_Still enjoying yourself, you son of a bitch?_

To his credit, however, Maxson rallied splendidly.

“And what a fortunate man your late husband was, de Havilland,” he responded calmly, with a perfectly straight face; there was only the tiniest hint of amusement in the cool blue-gray eyes. “No doubt he died happy.”

The other soldiers roared with laughter, and the Initiates snickered; Margot grinned, faintly embarrassed, although she had to concede that Maxson had given as good as he got.

_Well played, you bastard..._

Proctor Quinlan's eyes were bulging with shock; he appeared to be in imminent danger of cardiac arrest. Danse, however, wore the expression of a man praying silently for the mercy of a swift and painless death.

“But I think that's enough levity for now,” Elder Maxson added. “Brothers and sisters, please rise.”

Margot and the Initiates got to their feet; Danse did the same, although he was still looking at his boots, red-faced and embarrassed.

“By my authority as Elder, and as Steel is my witness, I formally welcome you to the finest family in the world – the Brotherhood of Steel,” Elder Maxson announced. “May the Oath of Fraternity bind you to us, and to each other, for as long as all assembled here shall live. _Ad victoriam!_ ”

“ _Ad victoriam!”_ the Initiates replied heartily, and behind them, the sentiment was loudly echoed by the crowd.

“ _Ad victoriam_ ,” said Margot, with a rush of triumph. She'd done it. She and Danse were officially back in the game. However, when she looked at him and saw the way his cheeks were still burning, the smile began to disappear from her face.

_That wasn't as funny as I thought it was. Maybe to me, and everyone else, but not to him. He was depending on me to conduct myself with dignity, and instead I let him down. Shit, why do I keep doing this? Is getting back at Maxson really worth losing Danse? How much more of my tomfoolery is he prepared to tolerate before he decides I'm just not worth the trouble? Why? Why, when I tell everyone not to take the best part of the Brotherhood for granted, do I keep doing the same damn thing myself?_

“ _Ad victoriam,”_ Danse muttered, and walked away. “Excuse me, I need some fresh air.”

“Danse,” she called after him, flooded in an instant with remorse. “Hey, Danse, wait up! I - ”

Without a word or even a look in her direction, Danse pushed through the crowd and stepped out onto the flight deck; when Margot tried to follow him, her path was blocked by a group of Knights rushing over to congratulate the new Initiates.

“Rosenfeld! Blaskowitz! Welcome to the family!”

“Congratulations!”

“ _Ad victoriam!”_

“Danse?” repeated Margot, more forlornly.

Haylen emerged from the crowd, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

“Oh my God!” she gasped. “Did you see the look on Maxson's face? And Quinlan's? Holy shit, that was _hilarious!_ ”

“No, it wasn't,” said Margot, looking down in shame at her feet. “I just acted like a jackass and embarrassed Danse in front of everyone. He's never going to forgive me for this. Never.”

“Oh, come on, it wasn't _that_ bad!” said Haylen. She was still laughing. “Quinlan may need a dose of smelling salts after what you said about our dear leader, but Danse is okay. Just give him some space and a few minutes to shake it off.”

“Are you sure?” Margot said, with an uncertain look at the closed door. Obligation was tugging at her conscience. “Only I'm not supposed to let him walk around unaccompanied...”

“He'll be fine,” Haylen assured her. “Come on, sister, let's get some breakfast. I think I saw Sugar Bombs on the menu today... they might still have some left if we hurry.”

Margot looked down at her Pip-Boy and the time it displayed. Haylen was right, she decided. Danse would be fine on his own for a few minutes. She let her sister in Steel pull her away through the crowd, but cast a sorrowful look over her shoulder at the door to the flight deck.

_I'm sorry, Danse. I'll make this up to you somehow. Just... be okay. Okay?_

*

Danse stood on the flight deck, outside the _Joyeuse_ in Dock One, silently stewing with humiliation and rage.

_What the hell was she thinking? Making a mockery of our Elder in front of all those people, after she promised me she'd behave? Everyone knew she was one of my recruits! This will reflect very badly on me, and even worse on her! She's supposed to be a Paladin, damn it! How dare she make inappropriate remarks in front of Elder Maxson, right to his face?_

He paced the deck, back and forth, with his hands tucked behind his back, scowling at the open sky. He was still trembling with anger.

_How dare she?_

He stopped to look out at the ocean, and the ruined airport below him. Something hit him out of the blue, catching him right in the chest; a peculiarly breathless, lightheaded feeling, almost manic in its intensity.

_Only she would dare..._

The sensation burst out of him, forcing its way out between his lips. Danse covered his mouth, but couldn't contain it any longer. Shoulders shaking, he started to laugh. When it suddenly occurred to him that Elder Maxson had returned her little quip in kind, he laughed even harder - he wasn't sure if it was out of shock, terror, or quiet, shameful glee, but out came the sound anyway, muffled behind his hands, as impossible to control as the woman who'd prompted it.

_I've never heard Arthur say something like that before. How does Margot make everyone around her behave as if they've taken leave of their senses? Why does she behave exactly the same way, even when she knows better? Why does she make me feel like – like I'm losing my mind?_

He sat down heavily on the deck and leaned against the railing, wiping the unbidden tears of mirth from his eyes and trying to recover his breath. She was chaos in human form; beautiful, willful and illogical, a creature driven as much by passion and impulse as common sense. And yet at the heart of the tempest was the calm he'd always craved – something warm, gentle and loving which reached deep inside him and told him that this, right here, was where he truly belonged. He'd never felt anything so absurdly counter-intuitive and yet so utterly _right_ at the same time.

_I always thought that being crazy about someone was just a figure of speech. Guess I was wrong. Being madly in love seems to involve actual madness, on both our parts. But God help me, I wouldn't have it any other way..._

“Excuse me, Pal- Knight-Captain Danse?”

Danse looked up, still smiling.

“Yes? How can I help you - ”

The smile immediately disappeared from his face.

“Knight-Sergeant Ellens,” he said, more somberly. He picked himself up and saluted. “Sister - are you all right? Is there anything you need?”

“I'm fine, sir,” said Ellens, hurriedly returning his salute, although she looked pale and distracted. “Uh, sir? Have you seen Knight Belasco? He was supposed to be at the Oath of Fraternity ceremony this morning, but he never showed. I can't find him anywhere. He's not in the mess hall, or the dorms, or the engineering bay, or - ”

Danse felt a dreadful feeling of apprehension grow in his chest.

“Are you concerned for his safety?”

Ellens nodded miserably.

“He woke up screaming in the middle of the night,” she said, with a little gulp. “He kept yelling that he was Steel and he'd never break, that he hadn't told anyone the codes... over and over, like he was still being tortured back at the Gunners' base. We had to call one of the medics over to sedate him, but it only seemed to make things worse. It got so bad that Knight-Captain Cade put him on suicide watch. And now he's gone. I – I don't know where he is, sir, but I've got this horrible feeling that something's wrong...”

Something cold and nauseous crept into Danse's stomach.

“We need to find him,” he said at once, and ran back inside, with Ellens hot on his heels.

 _I'm not supposed to be walking around the Prydwen without my sponsor to supervise me,_ was his first thought, as he ran, but his second thought was: _Margot wouldn't think twice about disobeying an order to save a fellow soldier. I won't stand by and let one of my brothers come to harm because I didn't get there fast enough. Not again..._

The door slammed open as they burst into the _Prydwen_ , and both the Knights on guard duty jumped as they tore past.

“Who was supposed to be watching him?” Danse said urgently, scrambling up the ladder to the main deck.

“Knight Reuben,” said Ellens, directly behind him. “She went to help Squire Ross when he fell down the stairs and hurt his ankle, but she told one of the other guys to watch Belasco until she got back. I don't know how he managed to slip away without anyone noticing, but he – he couldn't have gone far, right, sir? You didn't see him out on the flight deck or anything, did you?”

Danse shook his head.

“He would have had to go through the command deck on his way out there. Someone would have seen him leave. Are the Knights on the guard rota aware that he's on suicide watch?”

“Yes, sir. Knight-Captain Cade made it clear to everyone that Belasco wasn't allowed to go out onto the flight deck unaccompanied,” said Ellens. Her voice began to crack. “He said it was for his own protection, in case he tried to – to jump...”

“It's all right, Ellens, we'll find him,” Danse promised her. “We won't let that happen.”

“Affirmative, sir,” she said shortly, although she seemed to be making a concerted effort not to cry. Her mouth started to crumple. “Oh, God, I hope he's all right...”

They climbed up onto the main deck and hurried up the steps to the next level of the catwalk. Knight Reuben was standing on the stairs and sobbing against the railing, frantic with grief.

“I was only gone for a minute!” she wailed, when she looked up and saw them. “I asked Knight Fletcher to keep an eye on Knight Belasco while I was gone, but he said he had to go out on patrol and asked one of the other guys to watch Belasco instead – and now he's disappeared! Nobody's seen him anywhere! If Knight-Captain Cade finds out I lost track of him - ”

“Crying isn't going to help find him, Knight,” Danse ordered. “Find Knight-Captain Cade! Tell him that Knight Belasco is missing and it's imperative that we locate him immediately!”

“But - ”

“That's an order, Knight! Go!”

Knight Reuben rushed downstairs in a panic, almost tripping over her own feet as she hastened away to find the _Prydwen_ 's chief medical officer. Danse passed her on the stairs and ran up to the next level of the catwalk.

“Knight Endicott! Have you seen Knight Belasco?” he demanded to know, grabbing a passing Knight by the pauldron of his Power Armor.

“Not since reveille, sir,” the young Knight replied, his voice nervous through the filter of the metal helmet. “Didn't he come to the ceremony this morning?”

“Where was the last place you saw him?” said Danse, with greater urgency. “Quickly!”

“I, uh... the dormitory, I think,” said Endicott, stuttering in his haste to respond. “Uh, s-sir? Do you want me to find Paladin de Havilland? Only... I thought you weren't supposed to go anywhere without your sponsor. She's your sponsor, right? Sir?”

But Endicott found himself speaking to empty air; Danse and Ellens had already broken into a run, thundering down the catwalk. He stared after them as he watched them go.

“The hell's going on?” he said, puzzled.

*

Margot and Haylen had arrived at the mess hall just in time to get the last two helpings of Sugar Bombs. Haylen had already dived in, eating the sugary cereal with every sign of enjoyment. Margot, however, found herself toying with the spoon instead, too sick with nerves to bring herself to actually eat.

She was still replaying this morning's exchange of witty repartee in her head. The more she turned the words over in her memory, the worse they were starting to sound... and now that she was beginning to dwell on today's lapse of judgment, last night's act of insanity was starting to come back to haunt her too.

She'd been pretty sure that she'd done a good job of persuading Scribe Harper that “maybe” was the right answer. Now, however, she was no longer convinced of her own wisdom. At any moment, the young Scribe might innocently parrot the wrong thing to the wrong person and then proudly announce that Paladin de Havilland had told her what to say. And then she, Margot Nora de Havilland, would be completely screwed.

_Damn it, I always reconsider my brilliant ideas after I've executed them. My instincts were screaming at me to stay the hell away from Maxson's love life, and now I'm in this up to my neck. When he finds out I'm involved in this, I'm done for. Fucked. What the hell was I thinking?_

“So tell me again why you sent Scribe Harper my way, Haylen?” she asked, casually, although her voice seemed to have taken on an unusually high pitch.

“I figured she needed an outside perspective,” said the Scribe, shrugging. She spooned some more Sugar Bombs into her mouth; dry, thought Margot, trying not to pull a disgusted face. Stale two-hundred-year-old cereal was an unappetizing breakfast option in and of itself, but the prospect of eating those stale little clusters of grain and sugar without any milk was really quite terrible.

_Almost as terrible as what the members of the Elder Council are going to do to me when they find out that I haven't convinced Maxson's bride that he's the most perfect man on the planet. Harper could have told anyone on the Prydwen that she was having doubts, but no, of course she had to go and ask Paladin de Havilland for relationship advice..._

“But why me?” Margot found herself saying. _“_ Why is it always _me?_ ”

“Because even the wasteland recruits are so wildly infatuated with Maxson that they won't have a word said against him,” Haylen said. She smirked. “And that's just the men. The women are already fighting over who gets to marry him if his bride-to-be decides to opt out. I figured if there was anyone willing to say anything other than _“Maxson is wonderful, all hail our glorious Elder, praise Maxson”_ and be straight with the kid, it was you.”

“While I'm touched by your faith in my objectivity, Haylen, I really wish you hadn't dumped this one on me,” Margot said wearily, dropping her spoon back into the bowl. “Now I have to hope like hell she doesn't decide to give her official response in song and start singing “Maybe” in front of the entire Brotherhood of Steel.”

Haylen choked on her cereal.

“What? You told her to say “maybe” in response to an Elder's marriage proposal? Seriously?”

“Hey, it's a perfectly legitimate answer,” said Margot, trying to sound lighthearted in her response, although her heart was anything but light; it seemed to have been cast from lead, and it was pounding so hard that she feared it might crack her ribs. “I think a little more time for her to think things over is just what everyone needs. Maxson gets to prove he can be the perfect husband, she gets to decide whether he's up to the job, and _bam_ , everyone's happy.”

 _I hope so, anyway,_ she thought gloomily, picking up her spoon again and taking a deep breath to steady her hands and heartbeat. _If I'm wrong, Scribe Harper's in big trouble and Danse and I are screwed. Damn it, Haylen, why didn't you just steer her toward Knight Rhys instead? Even if he couldn't convince her that the Brotherhood's needs came first, he could always volunteer to take her place. People always say he's married to the military – he might as well make it official._

She tried not to laugh at the thought of Knight Rhys scowling in a wedding gown as a fellow Knight escorted him up the aisle to a glowering Elder Maxson.

“You okay, Paladin? You're _smiling_ ,” said Haylen suspiciously. “Don't tell me you're actually rooting for Scribe Fuckbuddy to get together with Elder Maxson after all?”

“Hey, don't call her that,” said Margot, with a hint of reproach in her voice. “Come on, Haylen. Make fun of the situation, sure, whatever, but don't make fun of her. That's not fair. It's not her fault she got volunteered for all this.”

A guilty look stole across Haylen's face.

“Yeah, you're right... sorry, Paladin. She's a decent kid, I guess. Just a little too meek and mild for her own good. I suppose the Elder Council were counting on that when they offered her up to Maxson like some sort of human sacrifice. “ _Ad victoriam, sister! Now marry our Elder! It's for the greater good!”_. The poor kid was too nice to say no, and now look where she is. _”_

“Sometimes the greater good has a hell of a lot to answer for,” said Margot, with a long sigh. “I didn't exactly see people lining up to thank me when I nuked my own son to save the Commonwealth, but they're pretty quick to ask for my help whenever _they_ need something. I've lost count of the number of times I've been chased by Deathclaws, Super Mutants and Raiders - sometimes all at once - just because some settler lost their late great-uncle's favorite hammer and wouldn't quit yammering about it until I brought it back to them.”

Haylen covered her eyes.

“Please tell me you're kidding. I'm all for altruism, but really? A hammer?”

“Slight exaggeration, but you get the idea,” Margot said, with a small, sardonic smile. “If I'm lucky, I'll get fifty caps and a pat on the back, and then they're right back to asking me if I'm a synth, there to spy on them... I swear, Haylen, I must be the biggest dope in the Commonwealth. Even when I know I should say “Hell no!” and run the other way, somehow I still end up getting involved. It's like I have this _compulsion_ to wade knee-deep into trouble for every lost cause I can find.”

“Well, if it's any consolation, I think Danse appreciates it,” said Haylen, with a little smile of her own. “He told me once that he admired your willingness to help people, even when you had your own problems to deal with. He said it was noble and selfless. He called you an inspiration, did you know that?”

Margot blushed and looked away.

“That was sweet of him. I'm not, but... hell, even if the pay is lousy, it's nice to know I'm doing something right.”

“If he says you are, then you are,” said Haylen straightforwardly. “Danse doesn't say things he doesn't mean.”

“Danse was a great mentor,” Margot said, reaching for the coffee pot. She poured herself a mug and picked it up, then put it down again with a hopeless sigh. “He taught me so much while we were out there together. I just wish I could do half as much good for him as he did for me.”

Haylen reached across the table and laid her hand on top of Margot's.

“I think you do him more good than you realize,” she told her. “Danse seems happier when he's around you. He smiles more. In fact,” she added, starting to smile, “I think he might even have a little thing for you...”

Margot looked up, with widening eyes. She wasn't sure if the blood was rushing to her cheeks, or draining from them; she opened her mouth a little, unsure how to respond. She could feel her pulse pounding in her lips, and the throb of her heartbeat in her neck.

“What are you saying, Haylen?”

Haylen gave her a dry look which said _“I'm not stupid, de Havilland”,_ but she said instead:

“All I'm saying is, I wish Knight Rhys looked at _me_ like that. I'm not sure if you even know what you have there, Paladin.”

 _A handsome synth boyfriend who likes to snuggle, treats his Power Armor like his firstborn child, and blushes every time someone alludes to the terrible, scandalous subject of intimate relations?_ Margot wanted to reply. _I know exactly what I have, Haylen... and I'm filled with terror by the thought that I might ever lose him._

“I'm quite aware of what I have and haven't got,” she said, abruptly pulling away her hand and picking up her coffee mug from the table. “I don't need anyone to help me take stock when it comes to my personal life, thank you.”

Haylen grinned.

“You like him, don't you?”

Margot gave her a chilly look over the edge of her mug.

“I said no such thing.”

“You didn't have to,” Haylen teased her. “It's all over your face. All anyone has to do is say the name _Danse_ and you look like you're about to swoon...”

“This is a highly inappropriate topic of conversation, Scribe,” said Margot, scowling. She put down the mug with a small _thud_. “I suggest that you change the subject immediately.”

This time Haylen giggled.

“You're even starting to sound like him! That was _exactly_  what he said in the bunker when I asked him if he liked you.”

For a brief, rare moment, Margot found herself speechless. Of course she'd known that Haylen knew where Listening Post Bravo was, and that Danse would have holed up there to stay safe. Haylen was the one who'd told her where to find him in the first place. But she'd risked her own neck to visit him there – and then asked him questions like those?

“You went to the bunker?” she managed to say at last, once she'd recovered her voice.

“A few times,” said Haylen, with another little shrug. “Just wanted to keep an eye on him, you know? I think he appreciated the company. But he seems like he's doing a lot better now. All thanks to you.”

“Are you sure?” said Margot. She took a sip of her coffee and tried to warm her hands against the mug's faded ceramic surface. “I really hope you're right, but... I don't know, Haylen. I think he's pretty mad with me right now. Sometimes I think all I do is cause him trouble.”

“Look, I know Danse,” said Haylen patiently. “He probably isn't very pleased that you sassed Elder Maxson in public like that, but he knows that you've been through a lot lately and that people have weird ways of coping with stressful situations... like making off-color remarks to our Elder in front of other people just to see what happens next.”

Margot cringed.

“Jeez, Haylen, way to remind me what a complete idiot I am.”

“Don't worry about it,” said Haylen, with a dismissive little noise. “Okay, it wasn't very polite of you, but nobody died, everyone still has all their limbs, and you even managed to get a witty riposte out of our dear leader. Worst-case scenario, you'll have to apologize for being disrespectful to a superior officer and scrub a few decks as punishment, and that'll be the end of it. You certainly haven't done anything Danse can't forgive you for.”

“I hope not,” said Margot.

Haylen pushed away her bowl and came around to the other side of the table.

“You haven't,” she said, more kindly. She patted Margot on the back. “Hey, come on. You disobeyed orders and defied our Elder to save Danse. You even risked your own life to get him back into the Brotherhood's good books. After all you've done for him, I think he could forgive you just about anything...”

A Knight ran past them, yelling for Knight-Captain Cade. Margot and Haylen both turned to watch the young woman, wondering what on earth was the matter.

“Huh,” said Haylen, raising her eyebrows. “Knight Reuben seems like she's in a hurry. Wonder who managed to get themselves stuck in their Power Armor this time?”

Margot tried not to laugh.

“That happens a lot?”

“More often than you'd think,” said Haylen, with a snicker. “You should have seen what happened when Rhys tried to put his suit on backward for a dare. But much as I'd like to recount that tale of hilarity and woe, I should really get going. I promised Neriah I'd help her take some more blood samples from those Mole Rats of hers.”

“Okay, sister. See you later.”

As Haylen left, Margot returned halfheartedly to her bowl of cereal and wondered if her sister in Steel had been right about Danse's readiness to forgive her blatant lack of respect for Brotherhood protocol. She lowered her head and picked up her spoon.

“Good morning, Paladin,” said a voice beside her. “May I join you?”

Margot paused, with the spoon halfway to her mouth, and looked up, expecting Danse, or Paladin Rex, or some other friendly face. To her astonishment, however, she saw Elder Maxson waiting patiently beside the table with a tray in his hands. Panic stopped her heart.

_Oh shit! He knows!_

“Of course, Elder,” she said, with a nervous little nod. “You don't have to ask my permission. Go right ahead and park it.”

Elder Maxson's eyebrows lifted.

“I assume that's a colorful wasteland idiom which means you consent to my company?” he said.

Margot colored. It was something she often said, lightheartedly, to Shaun, whenever he asked if he could come and sit with her on the couch.

_Inappropriate, Margot. You don't tell the supreme leader of the Brotherhood of Steel to “park it”. You invite him to sit down politely, you idiot... what were you thinking? Haven't you made enough ill-judged comments today? Do you actually want to be thrown out of the Brotherhood when he finally loses patience with you and your total lack of respect for authority?_

“I-I'm sorry, sir,” she found herself babbling, in her newfound haste to apologize. “I meant to say yes, please, you're welcome to sit down.”

“Thank you.”

He set down his tray on the table and took the seat Haylen had recently vacated.

“Was there, uh, something you wanted?” Margot ventured, after a moment. “I'm not in trouble or anything, am I?”

“Don't worry, de Havilland, you haven't done anything wrong,” Elder Maxson assured her. “Or if you have, word of your misdeeds has yet to reach me. No doubt you'd talk me into granting you amnesty even if it did. You usually do.”

He smiled a little, but Margot didn't. She looked down awkwardly, in the hope of avoiding eye contact.

“Are you all right, Paladin?” said Elder Maxson, more quietly. “You look - ”

Margot looked up, hoping she didn't look as fearful and guilt-stricken as she felt.

_Like I just made an inappropriately lewd remark to you in front of everyone, and told your future wife that she should say “I'll think about it” instead of “I do”? Like I'm about to pass out from sheer nervous dread of what will happen when Scribe Harper cheerfully answers “maybe” when you ask her for her response in front of the Brotherhood's entire Commonwealth contingent? Is there a colorful wasteland idiom which indicates that I'm fucking terrified of what I might have encouraged her to do, and what will happen to me and Danse when she does it?_

“ - troubled,” he finished. “I hope my presence isn't bothering you.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” Margot apologized, stumbling once again over her words. “It's not you. I guess I'm not really myself right now. Must be the nightmares I've been having.”

“Nightmares?”

“About my father,” she admitted. “He was killed in the Sino-American War. The Chinese shot down his Vertibird over Anchorage. I wasn't there to see it, but...”

“My father was killed in battle too,” said Elder Maxson sympathetically. “My mother died not long afterward - she was exposed to an extreme amount of radiation during the same mission, and there was nothing to be done but make her comfortable. Her last conscious act was to entrust me to Owyn Lyons and send me east to the Citadel, so I could learn the ways of war and eventually take my place as Elder. I never saw her again. She died a few days after my departure.”

“I'm sorry for your loss, Elder,” said Margot straight away.

Elder Maxson inclined his head.

“And I'm sorry for yours. The Sino-American War... how old were you when you lost your father? Still a child?”

Margot shook her head.

“No, sir. Mid-twenties. I was already married, and expecting my son. It still came as a blow. My father and I were very close. I don't even know what happened to my mother. She must have been killed in the Great War. When I left the Vault, I tried to look for some trace of her, but – I think it just happened too long ago. There was nothing left.”

“My condolences, Paladin. That must have been very difficult for you.”

Margot nodded, with tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

_For the love of God, Maxson, please don't ask me about Peggy. I'll never be able to browbeat you into giving me political concessions again if you've seen me cry. How can a bag of emotional mush compete with someone forged in eternal Steel?_

“I was five years old when they sent me to the Citadel,” said Elder Maxson. He suddenly looked a great deal older, and more weary. “Elder Lyons welcomed me with open arms. He was a caring and compassionate man. I learned a great deal from him, and even more from his daughter, Sentinel Lyons - and now they've sent her cousin from Lost Hills to marry me. She looks so much like Sarah, but I find the resemblance... well, a little unnerving. In all honesty, I'm not quite sure what to make of the Elder Council's choice of bride.”

“I thought you liked her?” said Margot, taken aback. “Don't you? Sir?”

To her amazement, Maxson's cheeks took on a slightly warmer, pinker color. The scar which ran down the right side of his face flushed almost bright red.

“I like her very much,” he admitted. “Although I have to admit that I'm a little concerned. She's polite and intelligent, and quite remarkably beautiful, but I don't think she likes me very much at all. In fact, I suspect that she's going to say no when I speak to her today.”

“Why are you telling me this, sir?” Margot blurted out.

Elder Maxson gave her a sharp, sudden look.

“Because while you and I have had our differences, there are two things I can always depend on you to do, de Havilland. One is to speak up in defense of a brother or sister in Steel... no matter who they are, what they've done, or what it will cost you in return. The other is to provide brutally honest opinions. I've heard things from you which nobody else would have _dared_ to say behind their Elder's back – let alone to his face.”

Margot picked up her coffee mug – or tried to. Her hands were trembling so hard that she had to put it down again, or risk spilling hot liquid all over her lap.

“And that's supposed to be a good thing?” she said, with a nervous little chuckle.

Elder Maxson smiled wanly.

“Believe it or not, de Havilland, your level of candor isn't entirely unappreciated. While backtalk should never be tolerated, there are occasions when leaders need to be told things that they don't necessarily want to hear. One of the most valuable assets a commander can have is someone who can be trusted to provide him with an honest and truthful assessment of a situation... no matter how unpalatable the answer might be.”

Margot gave him a sidelong look.

“Are you talking about the Danse situation?”

“The... Danse situation would appear to have been resolved,” said Maxson, with a hint of warning in his gaze. “Please ensure that it _stays_ resolved. I don't want to hear reports of mass desertion because I mistakenly placed my faith in you, Paladin. I've already heard word that Knight Raymond has resigned, citing Danse's return as the reason for her departure.”

“Screw that bitch, I never liked her anyway,” Margot said, without thinking, then remembered herself, and went red. “Uh... I meant...”

Maxson looked momentarily amused by her expression.

“I know _exactly_ what you meant, de Havilland. And I appreciate your honesty... if not your turn of phrase. I would have expected rather better manners from someone born before the Great War. I was always told it was a more civilized age.”

“Yeah, we were so fucking civilized, we almost wiped ourselves off the face of the map,” Margot responded, with a bitter note of sarcasm in her voice. “If those government assholes had stuck to flipping each other off at diplomatic meetings, instead of getting all butthurt over national pride and bringing atom bombs into the equation, we'd probably have moon colonies by now. Instead we're all screwed, down here in the dirt. If that's where civilized behavior gets you, thanks, but I'll pass.”

Elder Maxson permitted himself a very small smile.

“And in your utterly candid and profoundly vulgar opinion, Paladin, what should I do to convince Scribe Harper to stay?”

Margot's jaw dropped.

“You're asking _me_ to – okay, this isn't real. No way. I have to still be asleep. You didn't just ask _me_ for advice.”

“Believe it or not, I did. And I would very much like to hear what you have to say.”

Margot made a small, faint noise and caught herself before she could swoon sideways from her chair. This wasn't happening. This _couldn't_ be happening. And yet Elder Maxson was watching her expectantly from his seat, awaiting her reply.

She pinched herself, just to make sure. Elder Maxson was still sitting there when she looked up again. With nothing else to do but try her best to talk her way out of the situation and hope like hell that it worked, she ventured:

“Well, uh... have you tried actually _talking_ to her, sir? Because I get the impression that the poor kid hardly knows you. I think you need to make more of an effort to get to know her better. Find out a little more about her interests. You know. Things she likes.”

Elder Maxson looked perplexed.

“And how would I go about doing that?”

 _Oh my God,_ Margot thought weakly. _Talk about an uphill struggle. That Sisyphus guy got off lightly. If it came down to pushing a giant boulder up a hill for all eternity or teaching Elder Maxson how to talk to girls, I honestly think I'd take the boulder instead._

However, the option of eternal punishment in Hades didn't seem to be available, and Maxson was still looking at her as if he expected something profound to come out of her mouth at any moment, so she gave in.

“Well...”

*

Danse and Ellens charged into the dormitory. It was empty, save for a young Knight who was lying on his bunk and reading a tattered issue of _The Unstoppables._ Danse recognized him as Knight Van Dien – a bored-looking young soldier with blond hair which came dangerously close to the maximum permitted regulation length. He'd never liked the man much, but there seemed to be no-one else around to ask.

“Knight Van Dien!” he addressed him. “Do you know where Knight Belasco is?”

Knight Van Dien barely glanced up from the cheap printed pages of his comic book.

“I think he's in the showers,” he said, in flat, indifferent tones. “He said he'd be back soon.”

“Who's with him?” said Ellens quickly. “Someone's with him, right?”

“Jeez, Ellens, calm your tits, will you?” said Van Dien, rolling his eyes and returning to the comic. “Belasco's a grown man. He doesn't need someone to hold his hand so he can have a shower and a shave - ”

With a growl, Danse wrenched the comic book from his hands and hurled it aside.

“Knight Belasco is on _suicide watch_ , you indolent wretch!” he thundered. “That means he isn't supposed to go anywhere unsupervised! Were you meant to be watching him in Knight Reuben's place? Did one of the other Knights leave you in charge of him while she was gone?”

“Yeah, but I'm not going to stare at the guy's ass while he has a shower,” Van Dien sneered back. “What do you think I am, some kind of pervert? Maybe your buddy Cutler liked staring at guys' asses in the locker room, Danse, but I'm not - ”

It took Danse every ounce of self-control he had not to punch him in the face. He could feel his fists trembling furiously at his sides.

“ _That's Knight-Captain Danse to you, you depraved little - ”_

“A shave?” Ellens interjected. Her face was growing pale. “It was a safety razor, right?”

“Nah, straight razor,” replied Van Dien. “He asked if he could borrow mine. Said his wasn't sharp enough. He - ”

It suddenly occurred to him what he'd just said, and his eyes grew wide.

“Oh _shit_ ,” he breathed. “You don't think he - ”

“How long has he been gone?” screamed Ellens, grabbing Van Dien by the shoulders and shaking him. _“How long?”_

“Ten, fifteen minutes, I guess?” said Van Dien. He was starting to look panicky. “Shit, I don't know! I was - ”

“Reading a fucking comic book! I'll have your head for this, Van Dien!” Ellens shrieked, as Danse grabbed her arm and dragged her away. “If anything's happened to him, I swear in the name of Steel I'll - I'll – ”

They ran to the locker rooms and found them deserted; the rows of lockers and benches were untouched, save for a neatly-folded uniform and a pair of boots on the end of the nearest bench. The hissing sound of running water indicated that the showers on the other side of the wall were running, but there were no splashes, or sounds of movement. Danse felt his skin prickle. There was something ominous about the silence.

_Too quiet. Something's wrong._

“Belasco?” Ellens called out. “You in there?”

When no response came, she looked fearfully over at Danse.

“Stay here,” Danse ordered, feeling a familiar chill rising in his chest. “I'll go check on him...”

As he walked into the shower room, the humidity hit him like a wave; hot, damp air, so thick with steam that it was almost difficult to breathe. He sniffed the air. Something faint; a hint of metal. Nothing new in the Brotherhood's showers, where enemy blood often had to be washed from clothes and skin after a successful mission, but no teams had returned to the _Prydwen_ today, from battle or otherwise. It shouldn't have been there at all.

“Knight Belasco?” he called out, making his way carefully through the clouds of water vapor. His voice echoed back at him from every corner, amplified by the ceramic tiles which lined the walls.

He almost slipped on the wet floor, and put out a hand against the wall to steady himself until he regained his balance. When he looked down, however, his heart froze solid.

There was blood in the water. It had poured across the floor tiles and trickled into the flow of water gushing from the showerhead, thinning to a lighter shade of red as it reached the central drain. There was blood on the walls, and the floor, and the damp towel which lay abandoned in a bright scarlet puddle; it seemed to have flowed everywhere, seeping into every crack in the tiles and tainting everything it touched. There was blood on the razor, its blade washed almost clean of color by the flow of water. Slumped on the floor beside it, fingers still outstretched, was a young man – blond, pale and still, naked save for his holotags, lying in a lake of hideous crimson.

“No!” Danse yelled, running to his side. “No, no, no... Belasco!”

He turned him over and saw Belasco's head fall limply to one side. There was more blood beneath his head where he'd fallen, streaming from a cut in his scalp. Danse fought the urge to gag at the smell, at the _feel_ of it, and fumbled desperately instead for the pulse point at the younger man's neck.

“Belasco? Knight-Captain Danse, where is he? Did you - ”

Ellens' sentence ended in a horrified gasp when she saw Danse crouched over Belasco, looking for signs of life, and then she started to scream; shrill, hysterical screams which reverberated unpleasantly around the room, ringing off the tiles. She clapped both hands to her mouth, still screaming, and sank to her knees.

“No! Belasco, no! Oh God, no, please, please, this can't be happening, it can't, he can't be dead, he – oh please, no!” she gasped, through a flood of tears. “Please! Please, no!”

She tried to crawl to Belasco's side, but collapsed to the floor on all fours, her thin shoulders shaking with bitter sobs.

“I couldn't save him - oh God, why wasn't I there to watch out for him? Belasco, I'm so sorry!”

Danse felt the grief building in his own chest, even as he felt the tiny flutter of a pulse beneath his fingertips. He wasn't sure at first if it was Belasco's heartbeat, or if it was his own and he was imagining life where life had already departed, but when he listened closely and heard a faint, ragged whisper of breath from between the pale lips, he said, with a shaking voice:

“Ellens, he's not dead, but he's fading fast and he needs our help. Take a deep breath and go get some towels and a Stimpak, quickly.”

Still sobbing, Ellens nodded, picked herself up, and ran off.

 _Remember your training_ , Danse told himself, as panic flooded hot-and-cold through every vein and his chest began to tense. _Stay calm. Your brother needs you to stay calm, so you can help him. Remember what you learned on the field medic program. Check his airways, breathing, circulation. Apply pressure to stop the bleeding, keep the injury elevated... keep him warm, make sure he doesn't go into shock. Do whatever you can to stabilize his condition until help arrives._

His hands moved automatically, following the movements he'd been shown, even as his brain screamed at him that his brother was dying, that this was Cutler all over again and that it was all his fault for not getting here sooner -

“Where the hell are Reuben and Cade?” he bellowed, as Ellens returned, her arms full of towels.

“I'll go find them now, sir,” she said tearfully. “Is he going to make it? Please tell me he's going to make it!”

“He's going to make it,” said Danse, gritting his teeth. He took one of the towels from her arms and started tearing the thin cotton fabric into strips. “I'm not going to let him die! Not like this!”

Blood was still streaming from Belasco's wrists; Danse did his best to wipe his hands and keep the makeshift bandages clean, but the deep carmine color was already staining the cuffs of his uniform and seeping beneath his fingernails, the smell of iron as insidious as fear and guilt.

_Again. My brother's blood on my hands, again. No matter what I do, it keeps happening..._

“Ellens, I need you to keep applying pressure while I try to dress these wounds,” he told her, a little louder, to drown out the thoughts. “Can you do that?”

Ellens nodded, her face dripping with tears, and followed his instructions with shaking hands.

“Well done, sister,” said Danse, trying to keep his voice steady. “I know this is hard – I'm sorry. But he needs us both to keep it together for a little while longer, until we can get him to the sick bay. Try to stay calm, soldier. Deep breaths. We'll get through this, all of us.”

Another sob broke out of her.

“I'm s-sorry - ”

“It's all right, Ellens. You have nothing to be sorry about,” said Danse, taking a Stimpak from her trembling fingers. “If it hadn't been for your concern for his welfare, Belasco might already be dead. Instead, you've given your brother a fighting chance of surviving his injuries. You've performed admirably under pressure and done everything asked of you - I'm proud of you, sister. Well done.”

There was yelling from outside.

“ _You knew the man was at high risk of suicide, and you decided to interpret the words “look after him” by giving him a lethally sharp object and leaving him unattended? What the hell were you thinking, Van Dien? You do not leave vulnerable, suicidal people near any source of potential harm, and you certainly don't let them go off alone! Idiot!”_

“ _Sir, I - ”_

Knight-Captain Cade rushed into the room, with Reuben and Van Dien right behind him; Reuben let out an unearthly shriek when she saw the blood on the floor and burst into tears.

“Pull yourself together, soldier!” Cade told her sternly, over the sounds of her hysteria. “That sort of conduct is not helpful! If you really want to help, then go and inform Elder Maxson of this incident immediately!”

Van Dien went white.

“You're - you're going to tell Elder Maxson about this?” he said, stammering. “Knight-Captain Cade, I-I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean for something like this to - ”

“I don't want to hear your sorry excuses, Knight!” Cade barked in response. “Find Scribe Haylen and tell her to prep for emergency surgery immediately! Can I trust you to carry out that simple task without encouraging the rest of your brethren to immolate themselves along the way?”

“Yes, sir,” mumbled Van Dien, as the color rushed back into his face. “R-right away, sir...”

Knight-Captain Cade knelt down next to Belasco as the two Knights stumbled and ran from the room.

“Knight Belasco? This is Knight-Captain Cade,” he said out loud, as he checked for vital signs. “Can you hear me?”

Belasco didn't respond. Knight-Captain Cade frowned.

“He's lost a great deal of blood and I don't like the way he's breathing,” he said, glancing up at Danse. “Have you administered any treatment besides the bandages?”

“Stimpak, sir,” Danse volunteered.

Knight-Captain Cade gave him a short nod.

“Good. That'll buy us some time. We need to get him to the sick bay immediately and see if there's anything to be done. Give me a hand with him, will you?”

“Is he going to be okay, sir?” said Ellens, with a small whimper in her voice.

“We'll do everything we can to help him, sister,” Cade assured her, as Danse prepared to move Belasco. “Okay, Danse, on three. One, two... three!”

They lifted Belasco up from the floor and carried them away between them, out through the locker rooms and along the decks. Several soldiers stopped to stare at them, open-mouthed with shock and dismay.

“Oh shit, is that Belasco?”

“What happened?”

“Is he dead?”

Ellens started to cry again as they hurried Belasco downstairs.

 _You ran to his side, but not mine_ , Cutler's voice whispered at the back of Danse's mind, soft and treacherous. _Why him, Danse? Why him and not me?_

 _He's my brother, the same as you,_ Danse wanted to reply. His throat was starting to constrict, and his eyes were beginning to burn. _I was wrong to duck out of that mission. I should have been there to save you, and I'm sorry. But this time it's going to be different. Maybe I couldn't save you, but I'll save him. I won't let one of my brothers die again. I can't... not again._

_Not again._

*

Margot smiled.

“So, Elder, think you're up to your biggest challenge yet? Talking to girls?”

Something in Elder Maxson's eyes remained uncertain, but the indignant noise he made was a creditable attempt at dispelling the impression that he didn't know what to do.

“Of course I am. I'm not afraid of anything, de Havilland,” he said haughtily. “Especially not my own fiancée.”

“Well, _ad victoriam_ to you, sir,” said Margot politely. “I wish you well in your quest for love. And if you're ever in doubt, just remember the immortal words of the Bard. _She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd; she is a woman, therefore to be won._ ”

Elder Maxson smiled at that.

“ _Henry V._ How did you know that was my favorite play, de Havilland?”

“The fact that we staged a production on your birthday last year might have been a clue, Elder,” said Margot, unable to prevent herself from grinning at the recollection of six teenage Knights in Power Armor attempting to re-enact the Battle of Agincourt, while Paladin Rex – a truly intimidating Henry V – bellowed Shakespearean verse at the audience as though he was giving them a direct order to appreciate it.

Elder Maxson laughed.

“Who could forget? _We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition._ ”

They heard a gasp behind them, and turned around. Scribe Harper was standing behind them, with delight dawning in her face.

“You like Shakespeare, Elder Maxson?”

“I do indeed,” said Elder Maxson, with a little nod. “I take it you do too?”

“Oh yes!” Scribe Harper breathed rapturously. “My mother used to read his plays to me when I was a little girl. _Antony and Cleopatra_ was my favorite.”

“ _Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety,”_ said Elder Maxson immediately, with brightening eyes.

“ _I am fire and air; my other elements I give to baser life!”_ Scribe Harper sighed in response.

Elder Maxson smiled, and took her hand.

“ _Let Rome in Tiber melt and the wide arch of the ranged empire fall. Here is my space.”_

Scribe Harper sat down beside him, enthralled, still holding his hand; a moment later, they were enthusiastically quoting verses back and forth at each other, apparently oblivious to the fact that Margot was still sitting there, open-mouthed.

“I'll... leave you two alone,” she said tactfully, after a moment.

She picked up her bowl of cereal and stood up to go, only to be knocked roughly aside. The plastic bowl clattered from her hands, tipping its contents down the wall. She turned with a curse-word already on her lips, but it paled and faded to nothingness when she saw Knight-Captain Cade and Danse carrying a body between them, hastily covered with crimson-stained towels. Ellens was following them, sobbing as though her heart had broken.

Margot recognized the man in their arms.

 _Belasco_ , she thought, gripped with sadness, as she saw the roughly-torn cloth bound around each wrist, blood already blossoming like roses beneath the fabric. _Oh no. That poor kid..._

Scribe Harper looked up at their passage, and uttered a little cry of dismay; Elder Maxson was already standing up, his brow furrowed with concern.

“What happened?” he demanded to know, taking Ellens by the shoulder.

“Elder Maxson, please, this is not the time!” Knight-Captain Cade warned him, as Ellens started to sob even harder. “This man is dying and he needs our help! Knight Reuben will debrief you, but right now, we need to get Knight Belasco into surgery! Please stand clear, sir!”

Clearly shaken, Elder Maxson nodded and backed away.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “Scribe Harper, I think it might be best to give everyone some space. Perhaps you'd like to join me in my quarters instead. We can continue our conversation there if you wish.”

“Is – is he going to be all right?” said Harper timidly, as she rose from her seat. “He's not going to die, is he?”

“I have every confidence that Knight-Captain Cade will be able to help our injured brother,” said Elder Maxson, offering Scribe Harper his arm; she took it without a word and followed him, looking down in consternation at the spots of water and blood which had dripped onto the deck. “He'll receive the very best of care, don't worry...”

Scribe Haylen came running through the room, yelling over her shoulder:

“You'd better hope like hell it's not too late to help that poor kid, Van Dien! You're going to hear about this when I get back!”

Margot found herself standing there in the mess hall, still stunned, surrounded by the shocked murmurs of her fellow soldiers. She shook herself and hurried off in the direction of the sick bay.

 _I shouldn't have left Danse alone,_ she thought guiltily, as she ran. _I was supposed to be supervising him. If things go south and someone tries to blame him for this incident, I won't be able to vouch for him because everyone will know I wasn't there. Maxson knows I've already broken one of the terms of our agreement by failing to supervise Danse as promised. If Belasco doesn't make it, Danse and I could both end up out on our asses. Or worse... shit, why wasn't I there? I could have done something!_

One of the Scribes was leading Ellens away from the sick bay, reassuring the weeping woman with kind words. Margot edged past them and saw Danse standing in the doorway, ashen-faced, watching as Knight-Captain Cade and Haylen unrolled the bloody bandages and set to work on the unconscious Knight; their movements were swift, precise and urgent, and their faces set with solemn concern.

“Hey,” Margot said softly, and felt him jump at the touch of her hand on his shoulder. “Why don't we go back to my quarters for a few minutes? You look like you could use some quiet time.”

Danse shook his head stubbornly.

“No. I should be here.”

“Danse, it's all right,” Haylen said, looking up from the wound she was patiently suturing. “He's lost a hell of a lot of blood, and he's going to have some nasty scars once we're done patching him up, but I think you got him to us in time. It would probably be better if you took off, though. We're going to be here for a while, and this kind of surgery isn't going to be pretty.”

“Good work, Haylen,” said Knight-Captain Cade, with a brusque nod. “Go get some blood packs. Type O negative. When you're done setting up for the transfusion, see what you can do about that cut on his head.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You heard what Haylen said,” Margot said softly, and took Danse's arm. “Belasco is in good hands here, don't worry. He'll be okay.”

Danse turned to look at her, and then at the gurney where Knight Belasco lay unconscious beneath the medical lights. Knight-Captain Cade was cleaning and stitching one of the gashes in his patient's wrists, frowning as he concentrated; beside him, Haylen was setting up a blood pack in the IV stand and running some surgical tubing from the bag.

At last, he nodded, and let Margot lead him away.

*

Danse looked up from the picture in his shaking hands as the door opened. He breathed out when he saw that it was Margot, carrying a cup of coffee.

“Here,” she said, offering him the drink. “You look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

He took it gratefully and put the photograph down on the bed.

“Thank you.”

He turned the chipped mug in his hands – the pink teddy bear design on the side was so worn away that he'd initially wondered why anyone would go to the trouble of painting an angry Mole Rat on a mug – and took a sip. He immediately pulled a face at the taste.

“Did you put something in this?” he said accusingly.

Margot shrugged.

“Tot of whiskey. Proctor Teagan's personal stash. He said you looked like you needed it.”

Danse raised an eyebrow.

“Trying to get me drunk on duty, soldier?”

“I'm trying to work out whether that would make me the worst commanding officer ever, or the best,” said Margot, with a weak little grin of her own. “Jury's still out on that one.”

She sat beside him on the bed and placed a warm, careful hand on his back.

“Are you okay?”

Danse nodded, then sighed, and let his shoulders tell the true story. They slumped in miserable defeat.

“No... I'm not. One of our brothers is fighting for his life. After I lost Cutler, I told myself that things would be different. But then I lost half my team out there. And now Belasco – damn it, I promised myself that I'd never stand by and let one of my brothers die in front of me again.”

Margot frowned.

“Danse, you didn't _stand by_ and let him do it. You ran to help him, like any good soldier would. He's going to be okay, thanks to you.”

“That was what I thought when I rescued him from the Gunners,” said Danse sadly. He looked down into his mug. “I knew he was in bad shape, but I was sure that his condition would improve once we brought him home and he had some time to rest and recover... I realize now that I should have been more attentive to his mental state. If I'd known how vulnerable he really was - ”

He drained the coffee cup. He wasn't sure which burned more, the hot coffee or the whiskey, but he gulped it down anyway and set the mug on the floor.

“Saving him, bringing him home... it wasn't enough, Margot. I should have been there for him, the way you were for Knight-Sergeant Ellens. If he was having those kinds of thoughts, perhaps I could have talked him out of it. Instead, he became so consumed with despair that he tried to take his own life. He might still die.”

“Don't say that,” Margot urged him. “He's going to make it, Danse.”

“Is he? I don't know,” said Danse. His eyes were large and filled with sorrow. “Maybe this was just a low point and he'll pull through. Or maybe he'll never recover. Either way, I should have done more to protect him.”

“Every man and woman on this ship should have done more to protect him,” Margot said, with regret weighing heavily on her words. “Including me. I was so busy trying to give good advice to my sisters that I didn't even think of my brother, who needed my help more than anyone.”

She squeezed his shoulder.

“This isn't on you, Danse. If anything, you're top of the list of people who offered real, practical assistance to the guy. You got him out of there. You saved his life, _twice_. If only the rest of us had done half as much to help him...”

She took his hand and held it in hers; pale, slender fingers clasped around a large, scarred hand which trembled like a dead tree in a breeze.

“He's going to be okay,” she told him. “Right now, I'm more worried about you. You look like you've seen about a hundred ghosts all at once.”

Danse tried to laugh, but the sound was thin, and petered out into the air.

“No. Just one.”

With the saddest smile she'd ever seen, he passed her the photograph. Margot took it carefully from between his fingers and held it up to the light so she could see. The shiny black-and-white square of paper was rumpled and creased, and slightly singed around the edges – the burn marks were probably souvenirs from ArcJet – but the image was still clear. Two grinning young guys in Brotherhood jumpsuits and combat armor, standing in front of a very distinctive building.

“The Pentagon,” she said out loud. “You said that was the Brotherhood's headquarters now, right? The Citadel?”

Danse nodded silently.

“So this was taken in D.C.,” she said softly, running her fingers along the paper. They traced the outlines of a familiar face – dark-haired and handsome, missing his beard and a few of the scars he bore now, but still instantly recognizable as Paladin Danse.

She squinted at the other face in the picture. Another young man, fair-haired, with a devil-may-care grin and something confident and happy shining in his eyes.

“I didn't know you and Belasco knew each other back then,” she remarked. “What was he doing in the Capital Wasteland? I thought he was from the Commonwealth.”

“That's not Belasco,” said Danse, his voice suddenly dull and lifeless. “That's - ”

Margot breathed in slowly.

“Cutler,” she said. “Holy shit, that's one hell of a resemblance... I wonder if they were related somehow, from way back before the bombs?”

“It's possible,” Danse conceded. “It certainly wasn't uncommon for families to be spread right across the country back in your time. You mentioned you had family in the D.C. area before the Great War, didn't you? Your sister?”

“Yeah. Peggy and Bob lived there,” Margot said wistfully. “In a little town called Forest Heights. I expect there's nothing left of it now. I keep wondering if one of their descendants might still show up one day, although that might be too much to hope for. Even if I do still have relatives out there somewhere, they probably think I'm long dead - assuming they even know I existed in the first place.”

She studied the photograph again, more critically this time.

“So you said all the girls liked Cutler?” she said, after some consideration. “Hmm. I know I'm biased, Danse, but I have to say, I think you're the cuter out of the two.”

That got a rather sheepish smile out of Danse.

“Kind of you to say.”

“Nothing kind about it, it's the truth,” said Margot, undeterred by his show of modesty. “How come you weren't the one getting all the attention?”

“Cutler was the smooth-talking type,” said Danse, with a little chuckle. “He made your Ghoul buddy Hancock look like poor tongue-tied Travis in Diamond City. He won people over wherever he went... and then there was me, with all the charisma of a toaster. I'm afraid it wasn't much of a competition.”

Margot gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek.

“Well, you're _my_ toaster, and I love you,” she told him firmly. “I never trusted smooth-talkers anyway. I always got the impression that they tried the same routine on every girl within a ten-mile radius. Of course, I made an exception for Nate. He was a real charmer... but he was the sweet kind of charming. Not the cocky, overconfident kind.”

“Chris was the overconfident kind,” Danse admitted. “But I liked him anyway. He was courageous and good-hearted. Absolutely fearless. Always ready to rush in and save the day if someone needed him. He was one of the best we had.”

Margot looked again at the two men in the photo; Danse and his best friend, smiling, happy, their arms slung casually around each other's shoulders as though nothing would ever break the bond of brotherhood between them. There was something poignant about the scene; an unwitting sadness in the smiles. Neither of those young men had expected their friendship to end in tragedy.

“So this is why you're so torn-up about Belasco?” she said finally. “He reminds you of Cutler?”

“A little too much,” Danse answered, shifting uncomfortably. He looked deeply uneasy at the thought. “It makes me wonder if history's trying to repeat itself. But I don't know if I can - ”

He broke off.

“Cutler was the only family I ever had,” he tried again, but his voice was starting to shake. His face was growing pale, his eyes huge with remembered fears. “I can't go through that again, Margot. I can't do it. I – I can't...”

His chest began to shudder and heave as he gulped down air in short, panicked breaths. Margot felt her heart drop at the sight of his distress, but the instinct to comfort took over almost immediately; she wrapped her arms around him and held him gently, the way she'd cradled Shaun after she'd rescued the frightened boy from the Institute.

“It's all right, Danse,” she murmured, stroking his hair and shushing him into silence. “It's okay, honey, I'm here. I've got you. Everything will be - ”

On a passionate impulse, Danse reached up and kissed her, desperately seeking life on her lips in the face of death and all its memories. He saw Margot's eyes widen, then close; the kiss between them grew deeper, more hungry and urgent, until it threatened to consume them both.

 _You care about the Brotherhood, and you care about humanity... and most of all, you care about Blue,_ he heard Piper saying, days ago and miles away in Diamond City. _I know you do. You need her the way you need water, and air._

Water and air. Things he needed to survive. He'd sucked down all the water and air a body could possibly have needed, and yet he would have died down there in the dark if it hadn't been for Margot, the most vital force in the universe. More than anything, he needed the comfort of closeness; the warmth of her arms, the feel of her heart beating against his. Reminders that she was still there, and so was he, because her love had kept him alive.

He felt ashamed, suddenly, next to the woman who was stronger than him in so many ways. She'd always professed to admire his strength and his courage, but they were works of fiction, just like him. What a disappointment it must have been for her to find out that the brave Paladin Danse had never existed after all...

“I'm sorry,” he whispered against her lips.

Margot pulled away from the kiss and looked at him.

“Why?” she said, frowning. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I was supposed to be stronger than this,” said Danse, feeling the rising heat of humiliation in his cheeks as he looked down. “Damn it, Margot. I was a _Paladin_ , able to take on anything the wastes could throw at me - and now look at me. Weak, broken... pathetic.”

“You're not pathetic,” she told him sharply. “Or weak. You're the strongest person I know, Danse. That's kind of the problem. You're trying to be stronger than anyone could possibly be. Look, I know you've been carrying a lot of pain around with you lately, but you don't need to bottle it up any more - if you need to let it all out, I won't think any less of you for it.”

Danse shook his head.

“No. I'm all right. I don't need to... I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me.”

“They're called _feelings_ , Danse,” said Margot, sighing. “You don't need to apologize for having them. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for letting my feelings get the better of me. I wanted to get back at Maxson for making me bow and scrape like a third-rate butler, but I embarrassed the whole Brotherhood with my behavior. Worse, I embarrassed _you_. You were counting on me to behave like a Paladin, and I acted like a jackass instead. I'm sorry. I know you're still mad with me, and I... I don't want that. Please tell me what I can do to make this better.”

Danse just stared at her. He remembered the anger, in a distant sort of way, but after he'd seen Belasco bleeding from both wrists and Ellens sobbing on the floor as she blamed herself for not being there, petty insults to an Elder's pride didn't seem to matter any more – not when humanity's grip on its scarred, fragile little planet was tenuous at best, and people's lives could be torn away from them at any moment. As he looked at Margot and saw the sorrow in her eyes, he felt his heart ache, and suddenly understood what she'd meant.

 _It hurts_ , he thought, swallowing the lump in his throat. _But in a good way. A love so acute, so overwhelming, that you'd gladly sacrifice your own life to save theirs - because in the end, all that really matters is protecting our loved ones. Holding them close and telling them how much we love them, while we still have the chance. When either one of us could be gone tomorrow, I should be holding onto her, not some stupid notion of pride._

“I'm really sorry,” Margot repeated. “Please forgive me.”

Tenderness took the place of whatever ire there had once been, and Danse felt love wash over him in a warm, comforting wave.

“Of course,” he told her, picking up her hands in his. “It would take more than a couple of inappropriate comments to make me stop loving you.”

Margot started to smile.

“So... you'd still love me even if I fed all our rations to a pack of Feral Ghouls, like Clarke?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I hacked Liberty Prime and programmed him to call Maxson a dirty Communist?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I tried to tame a Deathclaw and make it the official Brotherhood mascot?”

Danse raised an eyebrow.

“Is that all you've got, soldier? That's pretty tame by your standards. I think you're losing your touch.”

“As long as I'm not losing you, I don't care.”

“Never,” Danse said fervently, shaking his head. “I will never stop loving you.”

He kissed her again, and in an instant, all was forgiven.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, more angst and sadness in this chapter. I don't know why I keep tormenting my poor characters like this...
> 
> I based the Oath of Fraternity on the wording of the actual Oath of Enlistment/Oath of Office used by the United States Army, with a few tweaks here and there to make it a little more Brotherhood-friendly. As Margot correctly noted, however, bowing to the Commander-in-Chief is not required, at least not as of 2077. I got the in-game impression that the Brotherhood of Steel kind of makes up its own traditions as it goes along...
> 
> Margot's brief musings on religion are a deliberate nod toward Danse's backstory in Rivet City - Fallout 3 players will probably remember Father Clifford and the Church of St Monica, which everyone on board Rivet City seemed to attend. My headcanon is that Danse got dragged along to a service by a fellow resident shortly after his arrival in Rivet City, and that was where he first crossed paths with Cutler, but that's something I'll probably come back to at some point in the story.
> 
> Scribe Harper's choice of line from "Antony & Cleopatra" is one of those bitterly ironic moments where she doesn't realize the full implications what she's just said... the line is famously spoken by Cleopatra as she prepares to commit suicide by asp and join her lover, Antony, in the afterlife. Harper, of course, is initially oblivious to the events going on elsewhere on the Prydwen, or no doubt she would have chosen something rather more tactful to quote...
> 
> Observant readers may also have noticed that Danse and Belasco both share the same blood type (hence the title). I like the idea that Danse may have saved Belasco's life in more ways than he realizes.


	17. The Vigilant

Hours passed. The sun danced across the sky. Inside steel walls, Danse sat and stared at the young man lying on the gurney beneath a thin wool blanket.

“ _He's still under sedation,”_ Knight-Captain Cade had warned him. _“He probably won't be awake for some time. You're welcome to stay with him if you want, but you could have a long wait on your hands.”_

“ _Understood,”_ Danse had replied. _“But I'd like to be there for him all the same.”_

“ _Very well. Since you're here, Danse, would you mind keeping an eye on him for a few minutes? Scribe Neriah wants to discuss her latest findings regarding a recently-captured synth specimen. I was hoping to catch up with her before her science class with the Squires this afternoon.”_

“ _Of course, sir.”_

That had been ten minutes ago. Now Danse sat in the sick bay and watched the rise and fall of Belasco's chest as the young man slept, listening to the soft sound of his breath in the quiet room.

The resemblance was uncanny. If he half-closed his eyes, it could have been Cutler lying there, deep in sleep and lightly breathing. But it wasn't Cutler, Danse reminded himself sternly. Cutler was lying in the cool, irradiated earth of the Capital Wasteland, six years dead and counting. Even if Belasco looked like him, he could never take the place of the man Danse had once called his brother and best friend.

_The Institute never understood how unique each human life really is. When they took Margot's son, they thought they could just give her another one and make it all better. As if our loved ones could ever truly be replaced..._

He took the folded piece of paper from his pocket and looked at the young man in the photograph, then the one resting comfortably in front of him. Brothers, both of them. People he'd sworn to protect. He'd failed one, but managed to save another; with any luck, that counted for something.

He glanced down at the medical chart pinned to the foot of the gurney and found himself skimming through the handwritten notes:

 _Belasco, Curtis (Knight), BL-346K. Date of Birth: 02/15/2270. Blood Type: O-negative. Notes: Sustained significant weight loss and malnutrition during prolonged period of enemy captivity. Patient exhibited numerous signs of physical abuse and acute mental distress on examination - diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety and depression. Patient administered with a dose of mild sedative to aid sleep and prevent self-harm after suffering severe night terrors/flashbacks; placed on suicide watch commencing 08/06/89. Patient attempted suicide 08/06/89; lacerations to wrists resulted in severe blood loss and unconsciousness; minor concussion following head trauma. Blood transfusion and emergency surgery successful. Patient is currently under sedation to allow for rest and recovery; his condition is stable. Check vital signs every 15 mins. Warning:_ _ do not leave patient unattended. _

Danse looked up from the clipboard as Belasco stirred slightly in his sleep, mumbling something. The boy still looked pale, exhausted and painfully thin, but his lips had lost the worrying tinge of purple and his expression had smoothed out into something more relaxed.

He was so young, Danse thought, with a pang of sympathy. Not much older than he and Cutler had been when they'd enlisted together. He wondered which settlement Belasco was from; whether the young Knight had any family, or whether he was one of the Commonwealth's many orphans; why he'd decided to pledge his young life to the Brotherhood of Steel; which of the horrors of enemy captivity had driven him to the brink of self-destruction.

He reached out and grasped one of the gaunt hands resting on the blanket.

“Don't worry, brother,” he murmured. “You're safe now. Everything's going to be all right.”

Belasco stirred again, emerging from sleep; after a few abortive attempts, he managed to open his eyes. _Blue,_ thought Danse, when he saw the flash of color, _but not the same blue as Cutler's eyes. There's a different light in them._

“Sir?” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I'd stop by and see how you were doing,” Danse replied. He gave the boy's hand a reassuring pat, and then released his grip. “Glad to see you're still with us, soldier. How are you feeling?”

Belasco looked around, startled, and tried to sit up.

“Don't try to get up,” Danse warned him. “Just rest for now. You hit your head pretty hard when you fell. Can you tell me your name?”

The young Knight nodded reluctantly.

“Y-yes, sir. Knight Belasco, BL-346K, Recon Squad Minerva.”

“What's the last thing you remember?”

Belasco's eyes grew wide with fear.

“The last thing I remember was the showers... I'd changed my mind, I didn't want to die, but it was too late, everything was going dark and there was so much blood, I - I thought it was the end... oh God, they're going to execute me for this, aren't they?”

Danse looked at him, aghast.

“What? Why on earth would you think that, soldier?”

“I broke the Oath of Fraternity,” said Belasco. His shoulders were trembling. “I swore my life to the Brotherhood of Steel, my _whole_ life, and then I tried to end it! They're going to remove me from the Codex and have me shot for cowardice, and then my family will find out, and - !”

“That's not going to happen,” Danse tried to reassure him, as the pitch of the soldier's voice grew higher and more hysterical. “The Brotherhood isn't going to execute you – not over something like this.”

“Then they'll kick me out and send me home instead,” said Belasco desperately. “Please, sir, don't let them kick me out! I don't want to go! I'm sorry!”

He started to sob; small, pitiful sobs which shuddered through his body and threatened to tear what was left of him apart. Danse felt his heart collapse in on itself at the sight of him.

“It's all right, son,” he said gently, after a moment or two. “You're not in trouble. You're a good soldier, and the Brotherhood knows how much you suffered in its service. Even under torture, you displayed honor, integrity, loyalty to your brethren... and most of all, unfailing courage. You're one of the bravest men we have.”

“I'm not brave,” said Belasco, his words choked with tears. He looked down, ashamed, at his hands on the blanket. “If I was, I wouldn't have done it. I'd be able to deal with this and carry on, instead of giving up, like a – a damn _coward_.”

Danse reached out and gave his hand another reassuring squeeze.

“You're not a coward, Belasco. You were overwhelmed by the pain of what you'd been through and it seemed that there was no end in sight to that suffering. It wasn't that you really wanted to die - you just wanted to do something, _anything_ , to make it stop. So you didn't have to feel anything ever again. Believe me, I understand.”

Belasco looked at him incredulously, with tears still glistening in his eyes.

“You understand? But – but you're Paladin Danse. The bravest man in the Brotherhood. How could you possibly - ?”

Danse sighed heavily.

“I've been where you are, soldier. I tried to kill myself too.”

Belasco's eyes grew saucer-wide.

“You – really? But why?”

“I thought I had to,” Danse admitted. “I was in a lot of trouble at the time. I thought I was a traitor and a coward - that my very existence was something to be ashamed of - and that ending my life was the only honorable way out of my situation.”

Belasco shook his head.

“I don't understand, sir. Why would you ever think that you had to – ?”

“Because I'm a synth,” Danse interrupted him. “That's why.”

He'd thought that it was impossible for the young man's eyes to grow any wider, but Belasco managed it somehow. For a moment, Danse expected panic, screams for help, accusations of treachery – that his brother in Steel might pull back his hand, struggle to his feet and try to run away, or scrabble on one of the surgical trays for a scalpel or some other last-ditch means to defend himself against the synth intruder. But instead, to his surprise, Belasco shook his head.

“Some of the guys were talking about it in the dorms last night,” he said, in a faint voice. “But I thought they were just kidding, you know? I mean, I heard some rumors after we got back, crazy stories about you being some sort of Institute cyborg, but I didn't think they might actually be - ”

“I'm sorry to say they're true,” said Danse wearily. “I wasn't born, like you or the rest of the Brotherhood. I was made in a laboratory by the Institute's scientists and machines, and the worst part is, I never even knew it. I went through my whole life, my entire _career_ , never suspecting that I might be anything other than human. But then I found out the truth. So did the Brotherhood. I knew they were going to execute me, so I – I ran. Fled for my life, holed up in a bunker out in the wastes and tried to work out what to do next. The conclusion I came to in my despair was that I needed to end it. Not because I was afraid of the consequences, but to prove that I still had free will, and that my words and actions were still my own... that I wasn't just some mindless slave of the Institute. I told myself that it was better to die as a person than live as a thing.”

“What changed your mind, sir?” said Belasco, rather nervously. “Why didn't you do it?”

“Paladin de Havilland came after me,” Danse answered.

And in an instant, his mind cast him back to that moment at Listening Post Bravo – the vivid, dreadful memory of sitting on the chilly concrete floor, breathing in damp air and listening to the distant _drip_ of water as he tried to bring himself to stare down the barrel of his gun, or to pick up the Med-X syringe for real this time.

He shuddered, and drew in his breath.

“Elder Maxson sent her to track me down and kill me.”

He remembered the apprehension building in his chest as he heard the distant explosions of the defense robots, the _whir_ of the elevator, and the creeping knowledge that the end was near. His dread had only heightened further when he'd seen Margot step out of the elevator; she'd always been a diligent, conscientious soldier, and the only things he'd ever known her to defy at that point had been death and the odds.

“But when she found me, she refused to carry out her orders,” he went on. “She told me that I wasn't a machine - that people cared about me, and that I was wrong to think that my life meant nothing.”

The seconds had ticked away like years as she'd pleaded passionately with him to reconsider, her eyes shining with love and tears and defiance until, at last, she'd succeeded in talking him down.

“She told me that I still mattered, and that it wasn't the end.”

A hand holding his in the darkness; a sweet smile, a gentle voice, the promise of hope and a new beginning. She'd led him outside to a sunrise he thought he'd never live to see, only for them to be met with the fury of a young Elder. Her soft voice had grown louder and sharper, a carefully-honed weapon raised immediately in his defense. She'd fought a pitched battle with words alone, any one of which could have cost her her own life, but somehow, incredibly, she'd won. Even now, it seemed like an unbelievable victory.

“She stood up for me,” he continued. “Supported me. Showed me every possible kindness. She even jeopardized her career and personal safety to bring me back home to the Brotherhood. I owe her my life - and now I understand why she did it.”

He looked down at the thin, milk-white hand which was holding weakly onto his; no fingernails, and traces of dried blood still visible in the creases of his knuckles. It seemed impossibly fragile. How easily the heart which beat beneath the skin could have stopped forever, and brought a young life and all its potential to a terrible end... the thought pained him bitterly. It was the same anguish Margot must have felt when she'd found him in the bunker, trying to say goodbye to the world.

_It could have been me. It almost was. I even recorded that damn holotape before I tried to pluck up the nerve to do it. But Margot brought me back and inspired me to keep going. I have to do the same. I can't let my brother think his life isn't worth living._

“It's because our lives are precious,” he said finally. “More than we realize. We all have something special to contribute during the course of our existence, and once we're gone, nothing can fill the void we leave behind in the world, or in the hearts of our loved ones. Your family, your friends, your brothers and sisters in Steel... they care about you, and to lose you in such tragic, preventable circumstances would cause them immense suffering. I can testify to that. I lost someone dear to me when I was younger, and the pain was almost unbearable.”

“Who was he?” said Belasco timidly.

Danse closed his eyes, because it was easier than staring back at the young man's face. The resemblance was becoming too much. Cutler should have been here now, trying to cheer up Belasco with jokes about how he could have been his long-lost brother. Instead, he was dead. He'd left behind buried bones and bittersweet memories, and nightmares which woke the surviving member of the duo in sweat-drenched guilt and panic, night after endless night.

“He was my best friend,” he said, his voice growing quiet and distant. “He died out in the field. Even now I wonder if it was my fault, or if there was something more I could have done to save his life. Don't inflict that pain on your loved ones, Belasco. Please think about the people you care about, and how much they would miss you if you were gone.”

Belasco started to cry.

“My family - Mom and Dad, Patrick, Lucille, my grandma - if they found out I'd tried to kill myself... oh, God, what was I thinking?”

“Your family needs you, soldier,” Danse told him, clutching his hand a little tighter as the young man wept. “The Brotherhood needs you. Your squadmate, Knight-Sergeant Ellens – she needs you too. You're the only one who understands what she went through back in that hellhole. More importantly, you're her friend. When she realized that you were missing, her first thought was to find you and make sure you were safe. She even helped me to provide First Aid until Knight-Captain Cade arrived – if it hadn't been for her timely assistance, we might not be having this conversation right now.”

Belasco let out a small, embarrassed groan, and hung his head.

“I can't believe she saw me like that... dying _and_ naked? Oh God, I'll never be able to look her in the eye again.”

“I think she was more concerned about your injuries than your state of undress, Knight,” Danse said, frowning. “But never mind that now. The important thing is that Knight-Sergeant Ellens cares about you - we all do, and we want you to know that you don't ever have to feel alone or afraid again. After all, you have your brothers and sisters here on the _Prydwen_ , and your family back home, in – uh - ”

He hesitated.

“Where are you from, Belasco?”

Belasco sniffled, and wiped his eyes on the edge of the blanket.

“County Crossing, sir. Used to live out near Salem until the Deathclaws started roaming further afield, so we packed up and moved. We heard the Minutemen's radio beacon while we were out on the road and followed it till we got there. Been living there ever since.”

Danse nodded. County Crossing had once been little more than a couple of tumbledown shacks and a fenced field beside the abandoned National Guard Depot, but it was a popular stop for the local caravans and beginning to come into its own as a trading hub, thanks to Margot's tireless efforts as General of the Minutemen - wherever she went, she seemed to bring forth hope and life from the ruins.

“I know the place,” he said. “Do you want us to get a message to your family?”

Belasco shook his head frantically.

“No – no, please don't tell them what I did! It would destroy my parents, and my brother and sister are too young to understand... please, sir, I don't want them to know about this. Especially not my grandma. She's got a heart condition and if she heard about this - ”

“Understood,” said Danse gravely. “Your next of kin would have been notified that you were missing in action, but we'll tell them that we rescued you and that you're safe. They don't need to know the rest.”

Belasco nodded, with eyes full of tears and gratitude.

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it. And I'm sorry for what I did, after all the trouble you went to, rescuing me like that. I didn't mean to make a fool of you by dying anyway.”

Danse shook his head.

“Don't worry about it. It's all right. But please believe me when I say it gets better...”

He faltered, lost for words. He wished that Margot could be the one here to talk things through instead. She always knew what to say. What would she say, he wondered, if she were here now?

“Think of it like this,” he said eventually. “Your life is like a – uh - ”

He looked around for inspiration, and his eyes fell upon Knight-Captain Cade's desk. A copy of the _D.C. Journal of Internal Medicine_ was perched on the edge, with a piece of scrap cardboard wedged in between its pages as a bookmark.

“ - like a book,” he finished.

“Like the Scrolls of the Codex?” said Belasco. He was frowning, but looked curious to see where this was going.

“Exactly,” Danse said, grasping gladly at the reference to something familiar. “You and I both belong to the Brotherhood of Steel, and like all members of the Brotherhood, we each have a Scroll. It begins with our entry into the Brotherhood and describes every aspect of our service – our words, our deeds, commendations, feats of valor, missions and battles - everything that we do in the name of our order. It chronicles the events of our lives, like a story in a book. You read much, Belasco?”

Belasco shook his head.

“Not really, sir. I had to help out on the farmstead when I was growing up. Not much time for reading. But sometimes my mom would ask me to read to my little brother and sister, when she was too busy with chores. I used to like those old storybooks.”

“So imagine the story of your life,” Danse explained. “Each page is a new day. Some of the pages contain noble deeds and happy events. Others have sadder stories to tell - trauma, loss and grief. Sometimes the hero of the story runs into trouble, and the outlook seems so bleak that you wonder if you can bear to keep reading - but if you slam the book shut and abandon the story before it's done, you'll never know if things will get better. It would be a shame to throw it all away when there could be a happy ending waiting for you on the last page.”

Belasco looked stunned.

“I never thought of it like that, sir. So... what do I do? Just hold on and see what happens next?”

“Precisely,” said Danse, with a nod. “Your story's only just started, Belasco. It may have been difficult reading so far, but I think there are better things ahead for you. If you don't like where you are now, I recommend that you turn the page and wait for things to pick up. It won't happen right away, but if you take your time and give things chance to improve, your patience will eventually be rewarded.”

He stopped, suddenly self-conscious, and coughed.

“I... I suppose what I'm trying to say is - just hold on, brother. And don't suffer in silence. Whatever help you need, the Brotherhood will gladly provide. After all you endured for our sake, it's the least we can do to help you recover from your ordeal.”

Belasco managed a weak smile.

“Thanks, sir. I know I really screwed up, but...”

“We all make mistakes sometimes,” said Danse solemnly. “Just don't let one dark moment define the rest of your life. Try to move past it and focus on the good things which still lie ahead.”

“Like what?”

Danse gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“That's up to you to find out. Turn the page and see what happens in the next chapter. Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be worth the wait.”

Hope lent a little more warmth and strength to Belasco's smile; it was as if sunlight had suddenly illuminated his face in the windowless room.

“Thank you, sir,” he said earnestly. “Thanks for saving my life, and giving me a second chance. I won't waste it, I promise.”

“Knight Belasco?” said a small voice from the doorway. “Are you okay?”

Danse and Belasco both turned their heads. Knight-Sergeant Ellens was standing in the entrance of the sick bay, accompanied by the Brotherhood's smallest Squire; the little girl was clutching her teddy bear to her chest with one arm, and holding onto Ellens' hand with the other. Her blue eyes were large and solemn, her small face set with concern.

“Hey, Belasco,” Ellens greeted him, with a small wave. “Mind if we come in?”

Belasco's face brightened at the sight of them.

“Sure – I mean, uh, yes, ma'am. Please come in.”

“Hope you don't mind a few more visitors,” Ellens said, leading Squire Woods into the room. She started to smile. “Squire Woods said she wanted to see you. I said you were sleeping, but I'm afraid she insisted...”

“It's okay,” said Belasco. “I appreciate the company. Hey, the more the merrier, right?”

“All right then. Go on, Squire, say hello.”

“Hello, Knight Belasco!”

Squire Woods hurtled over and clambered up onto a chair. Danse saw her trying to lean over the chair's back so she could climb up to Belasco's bedside, and he promptly picked her up from her precarious standpoint.

“Careful, little sister, you might fall,” he warned her, and sat her down next to Belasco. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Paladin Danse,” said the little girl affectionately. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “My mommy said I wasn't supposed to talk to you any more, but I told her you were still my friend. Paladin Teddy and I will _always_ be your friends. Right, Paladin Teddy?”

She listened closely to the worn stuffed animal, then nodded.

“He says yes,” she reported.

“Of course he does,” said Belasco, beside her. “Knight-Captain Danse is a hero - he and Knight-Sergeant Ellens saved my life. They're the best friends anyone could have.”

“What happened, Knight Belasco?” said Squire Woods, looking up curiously at him. “My mommy said you hurt yourself and got really sick. Daddy said you were going to be okay, though. He said Knight-Captain Cade was going to make you all better.”

“He did,” said Belasco, with a cheerful grin. He showed her his bandaged wrists. “See? All fixed up and good as new.”

“What happened? Were you fighting Super Mutants?” said Squire Woods, wide-eyed with awe.

Belasco laughed.

“Haha, I wish! No, it was just a stupid accident. Don't worry, Squire, I'm okay. I'll be up and fighting mutants again in no time. Next time I kill one, I'll see if I can bring you a souvenir...”

Squire Woods' eyes lit up.

“Cool! Will you bring me a Super Sledge? I always wanted one of those!”

Danse tried not to laugh. The rocket-powered sledgehammers were probably bigger than the little Squire was; such a weapon would have been impossible for her to lift off the ground, let alone wield, although he couldn't help but admire her enthusiasm.

“Maybe one of these days,” said Belasco, with another little grin. “So how are you and Paladin Teddy, sister? Tell me all about the adventures you've been having while I've been away!”

“Oooh! We got to meet Liberty Prime!” exclaimed Squire Woods, her voice squeaky with excitement. “He was huge - even bigger than the _Prydwen_! And he's got a really loud voice! And laser eyes! He says his mission is to save Anchorage from the Red Menace, but I don't really know what that means... Paladin Teddy doesn't know either. He says he missed you while you were gone, though.”

“It's good to see you again, Squire Woods,” said Belasco. He was smiling more sincerely now. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

“You're welcome, Knight Belasco!” said Squire Woods brightly. “I'm glad you're going to be okay.”

She leaned over to hug him, then sat up again and said, with a more serious expression on her face:

“Do you want Paladin Teddy to stay with you? He can look after you until you feel better.”

Belasco's eyes filled with tears, but he managed a weak smile and a nod.

“That's very kind of you, Squire. Are you sure you won't miss him too much?”

“He says he doesn't mind,” said Squire Woods immediately. She handed over the teddy bear to Belasco, tucking the stuffed animal in the crook of the young man's arm and draping a fold of blanket over them both. “There. You can bring him back when you're all better.”

Belasco's smile grew warmer.

“Thanks, sister. I'll take good care of him, I promise.”

“Okay. Hey, Knight Belasco, do you like Gum Drops? We don't have any Fancy Lads cakes - my daddy says we're not allowed them any more - but Scribe Adonato says Gum Drops are still okay. My favorite ones are the blue ones. I like them. They taste blue! Like Mutfruit! I can bring you some if you want...”

As Squire Woods continued her happy chatter and Belasco listened good-naturedly, Danse felt a polite tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Ellens waiting nearby.

“Excuse me, sir?” she murmured. “Would it be all right if I spent a few minutes with Knight Belasco?”

Danse nodded in agreement.

“Of course. I'll take Squire Woods back to her mother. If you could stay with him until Knight-Captain Cade returns - ”

“Of course, sir,” said Ellens instantly. “I'll tell Knight-Captain Cade you asked me to take over from you. I don't want you to get in trouble the way the others did.”

 _I'm probably in trouble already,_ thought Danse, remembering his mentor. _Margot and I aren't supposed to be apart while we're on the Prydwen. I'd better find her before someone accuses her of breaking her agreement with Elder Maxson. I don't want her to face disciplinary action because I strayed too far from her side..._

“Thank you, Knight-Sergeant,” he said instead. “Squire Woods?”

Squire Woods broke off from her conversation with Knight Belasco and looked up with a curious, amiable expression.

“Yes, Paladin Danse?” she inquired.

“Knight Belasco needs some time to rest so that he can recuperate,” Danse informed her. “He's had a very busy day and he needs some – uh, quiet time. Knight-Sergeant Ellens is going to look after him for a little while.”

Squire Woods nodded happily and held out her arms.

“Okay. Will you carry me?”

“Of course, Squire. Up we go!”

The little Squire squealed with laughter as Danse picked her up and swung her into his arms; as he carried her out of the room, she climbed up a little further, ignoring the small _“oof”_ from her protector as the toes of her boots dug into his ribs, and peered over his shoulder.

“ _Ad victoriam,_ Knight Belasco!” she called out, waving to him.

Belasco saluted, as best as his bandaged arms would allow.

“ _Ad victoriam,_ sister...”

Danse glanced over his left shoulder and saw Ellens take the seat he'd recently vacated. He watched as she took Belasco's hand in hers and held it, the way Margot had once held his hand for reassurance.

“You okay, Curtis?” he heard her murmur.

Belasco nodded.

“Yeah... I'll be okay. As long as you're here, I'll be okay.”

Ellens smiled.

“I'm not going anywhere, don't worry. I'll be right here.”

Danse saw the way they exchanged glances and hesitant smiles, and quickly made himself scarce. Squire Woods was already nuzzling into his shoulder, content in his company. He smiled fondly down at her as he carried her away.

“Come on, little sister, let's get you back to your mother,” he told her. “She's probably wondering where you are.”

“Did you really save Knight Belasco, Paladin Danse?” she asked him.

 _I hope so,_ thought Danse, with another uncomfortable lump of guilt forming in his chest, but he nodded.

“Yes, Squire. We rescued him from the AntAgonizer's men and brought him home. He and Knight-Sergeant Ellens were both very brave. Paladin de Havilland's going to ask Elder Maxson if they can be promoted.”

She looked up at him, bright-eyed with admiration.

“Are they going to be Paladins too? Like you and Paladin de Hav'land?”

 _Paladin Danse_ , Danse thought, looking down at the little girl. No matter how many times people tried to correct her, reminding her that it was no longer his proper rank or form of address, he would probably always be Paladin Danse to her.

“I would be truly honored to share the rank of Paladin with our brother and sister,” he told her instead. “They deserve it. They fought bravely to protect the Brotherhood from our enemies.”

“When I grow up, I want to fight for the Brotherhood too,” Squire Woods declared proudly. “I want to be strong and brave and protect my brothers and sisters with my life. Just like them!”

Danse looked down at the small, sweet face resting against his shoulder. One day, that loving little soul would grow up and face all kinds of dangers in the name of the Brotherhood of Steel. The very thought that she might find herself up against Gunners and Raiders, monsters who tortured, enslaved and murdered the innocent -

He shut his eyes tightly and clutched Squire Woods a little closer to his chest.

“I'll protect you with _my_ life, little sister,” he said fiercely. “I won't ever let anyone hurt you. If you're hurt, or lost, or scared, come find me and I'll keep you safe. Okay?”

“Roger that,” she said, with a tiny salute. “Thank you, Paladin Danse.”

“Any time, little one.”

He carried her up the stairs of the catwalk, looking out for Squire Woods' mother, but no matter how much he reminded himself to seek out the blonde woman with a ponytail and an orange flight suit, he found himself looking for another face – one which was framed with dark curls, and painted with the Pre-War cosmetics which she thought she needed in order to be beautiful.

_Margot... the most beautiful, extraordinary woman in the world. Of all the people in the Commonwealth she could have chosen to love, she chose me. And to think I used to curse my bad fortune -_

“Phoebe! I thought I told you to stay with Knight-Sergeant Ellens until I came back from flight training! What are you doing with that _thing?_ ” said a shrill, angry voice behind him.

Shaken roughly from his daydream, Danse turned and saw Lancer-Initiate Woods glaring at him.

“You! Synth! Put her down!” she ordered.

“My apologies, Lancer-Initiate Woods,” said Danse hastily, putting down the little girl, who hurried to her mother's side. “Knight-Sergeant Ellens asked me to return your daughter to you.”

“You have,” said Lancer-Initiate Woods, still glowering at him as she drew her daughter into her arms. “Now leave us alone! Go find your sponsor! She's supposed to be watching you, not letting you wander around unsupervised!”

“Mommy, don't be mean to Paladin Danse!” said Squire Woods indignantly. “He's my friend!”

“He's not a Paladin, and he's not your friend! He's not even a _he!_ ” Lancer-Initiate Woods responded sharply. “Synths are the enemy, Phoebe, and we can't trust them! You stay away from Danse from now on, you hear me?”

“Yvonne!” snapped her husband, from across the catwalk; he'd been hunched over a workbench, trying to repair his laser rifle, but now he was looking up from his work with narrowed eyes. “You address Knight-Captain Danse properly and with respect! He's our superior officer!”

“Oh, so synths are superior to humans now, Peter? Really? You've changed your tune!” said Lancer-Initiate Woods, with a dark scowl. “A few months ago, you said you were sorry you never made it to the Institute, so you could wipe out the synths of the Commonwealth yourself! Now you want one of those things carrying our daughter around the _Prydwen_ unsupervised? What if it throws her over the side?”

“I would never hurt Squire Woods!” said Danse, shocked and hurt. “I'd never allow any harm to come to one of my little brothers and sisters – or to any other member of the Brotherhood, for that matter! The Brotherhood of Steel is my family, and it always will be, no matter what happens!”

“See?” said Knight-Sergeant Woods, glowering at his wife. “I told you so!”

“What, you're going to believe _that_ thing over your own wife?” said Lancer-Initiate Woods, in harsh, clipped tones.

“If my wife is going to be absurd and make cruel remarks about a family friend she once trusted implicitly, then yes, I am!” retorted her husband, with another furious look in her direction. “So what if he has some sort of robotic implant in his head? There's nobody left to send orders to it! The Institute's gone, Yvonne – Paladin de Havilland saw to that!”

“Paladin de Havilland is a wastelander working with another faction – who's to say she isn't some kind of Institute plant herself?” Lancer-Initiate Woods responded angrily. “I heard her son was the one in charge of that whole operation! She's probably a spy too!”

“Paladin de Havilland blew up the Institute _and_ her son to save the Commonwealth!” Danse said indignantly. “She believes so strongly in the Brotherhood of Steel, and all we stand for, that she was willing to sacrifice her own family to safeguard the future of the human race! Calling her an Institute spy is an insult to her dignity and integrity!”

“Well, you would say that, wouldn't you, synth?” said Lancer-Initiate Woods venomously. “Everyone knows you two were - ”

“Yvonne, that's enough!” bellowed Knight-Sergeant Woods. He pointed at his daughter, who had shrunk away from the argument and was hiding, wide-eyed, behind her mother's legs. “You're upsetting Phoebe! Take her downstairs for her afternoon nap and we'll discuss your concerns later – _privately!_ Until then, I don't want to hear another word about synths and spies, is that understood?”

The pilot shot a nasty look at Danse, but picked up Squire Woods and walked away, pointedly ignoring her husband and the stares of the other personnel nearby.

When she was gone, Knight-Sergeant Woods breathed out.

“I'm sorry about my wife, sir,” he said, with an apologetic look at Danse. “I know she was out of order, but she took the news about you and all the, uh, synth business pretty hard. Please don't put her on report...”

“Very well, but I expect Lancer-Initiate Woods to conduct herself with more decorum in future,” said Danse curtly. “I don't want to hear any more talk about Paladin de Havilland being a spy for the very organization which murdered her husband and abducted her only child. Malicious gossip is frowned upon in the Brotherhood of Steel, and for good reason - brothers and sisters are supposed to trust each other, not exchange unpleasant rumors behind each other's backs.”

Pink-faced with embarrassment, Knight-Sergeant Woods nodded.

“Yes, sir. Please accept my apologies. It won't happen again.”

“I certainly hope not,” said Danse, with a sharp look at the spot where Lancer-Initiate Woods had been standing. “Now if you could advise me of Paladin de Havilland's current whereabouts?”

“Senior Scribe Neriah asked her to stop by her workstation, sir,” replied Knight-Sergeant Woods. “They're talking about – actually, I'm not sure _what_ they're talking about, sir. It was something to do with synths, but that's all I know.”

Danse nodded in response.

“Acknowledged. Thank you for your cooperation, Knight-Sergeant. You may return to your duties.”

Knight-Sergeant Woods saluted.

“Yes, sir. _Ad victoriam_.”

Danse left him there, and went towards the research stations. He thought of Margot and synths; everything that he loved, and everything he was supposed to hate. How she could hold any love in her heart for something like him filled him with as much puzzlement as it did admiration. A year ago, he would have praised Lancer-Initiate Woods for doing all she could to keep her child away from a potential threat, and scolded her husband for letting personal feelings get in the way of his duty toward the Brotherhood. Now, however...

_So much has changed. Even me. I'm either a hero or a traitor, depending on who you ask, and sworn friends and bitter enemies seem to have traded places overnight. But for every Lancer-Initiate Woods, there's been a Curie. For every Knight Raymond, a Nick Valentine. People willing to give me a second chance, even after I treated them poorly. And some never gave up on me, in spite of everything. Haylen, Rex... and Margot. Always, more than anyone else, Margot._

He smiled a small, secret smile.

_My Margot._

*

Senior Scribe Neriah glanced up from her terminal.

“Ah, Paladin de Havilland,” she greeted Margot. “Glad you could be here. Knight-Captain Cade, Proctor Quinlan - thank you for coming too. I thought you might be interested in our latest findings.”

“What's this about?” said Margot warily. “Whatever it is, this had better be good. And quick. I need to get back to Danse. He's not supposed to be left on his own – Elder Maxson's orders.”

Scribe Neriah's eyebrows formed high arches.

“I didn't realize that following Elder Maxson's orders had suddenly become such a high priority for you, Paladin,” she said serenely, as she tapped away at the keyboard. “Well, I suppose there's a first time for everything.”

“Very funny,” said Margot, unimpressed. “Now are you going to fill us in here, Scribe Neriah?”

“Yes, Neriah, what's all this talk about synths?” Knight-Captain Cade interrupted. “I have a patient who really shouldn't be left unattended. Danse kindly volunteered to look after him for me while I attended this little, uh – well, what _is_ this about?”

“I'd rather like to know the answer to that myself,” Proctor Quinlan said, nodding in agreement. “You mentioned something about having dissected a synth, Neriah, but other than that, I honestly have no idea what you've been up to...”

The senior Scribe turned away from her report and clapped her hands together.

“Well,” she said, with enthusiasm, “in that case, allow me to give you a full report!”

She led them across the deck and past a gaggle of young Scribe-Initiates, who were crowded around an experiment on one of the workbenches and murmuring excitedly to each other.

“You may have heard that Elder Maxson ordered us to capture as many Gen-3 synths as possible,” she began briskly, as she strode past her students and their work. “Alive, dead, or, well, whatever state we find them in. I suppose they aren't really _alive_ , but you know what I mean.”

Margot bit her tongue, and said nothing.

“Our primary objective is to find out how they work, so we can detect any potential synth imposters and prevent them from infiltrating the Brotherhood,” Neriah continued. “So far, we've come up with very little. Externally, they appear human in every way. Internally, they're supposed to be almost as impossible to distinguish. However, that seamless ability to blend in presents us with opportunities, as well as difficulties...”

Margot scratched her head in puzzlement.

“I'm sorry, but I'm not quite following your train of thought here, Scribe Neriah. What do you mean, _opportunities?_ ”

“Ah,” said the Scribe, brightening still further. “Now that's where things get interesting. Scribe Holstein?”

A Scribe with glasses and fair, braided hair straightened up from her workbench and saluted.

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Show them the specimen,” Neriah ordered.

Scribe Holstein went obediently over to one of the examination tables. A suspiciously human-shaped outline was visible beneath a stained sheet. Margot drew in her breath.

_Please don't be Curie. Please don't be H2-22, or any of the synths I've helped through the Railroad... if there's anyone I recognize under that sheet, I don't know what I'll do._

Margot sucked in her breath a little more as Scribe Holstein picked up the edge of the sheet and peeled it back – and then let it out, trying hard not to let her relief show. Pasty white synthetic skin, with an almost rubbery texture and appearance, covered the body from head to toe, forming seams at the joints; the unfamiliar face bore the bland, expressionless features of a shop mannequin, and a bullet wound exposed traces of wiring and a metallic skull beneath the scalp. Milk-colored coolant was still bleeding from the stump of a severed leg.

“That's not a Gen-3 synth,” she pointed out. “That's a Gen-2. One of the earlier models.”

Scribe Neriah seemed at least moderately impressed by Margot's powers of observation.

“Indeed,” she said. “We're still looking for Gen-3s, but so far they've proven elusive. I suspect that they're being assisted by the organization known as the Railroad. However, we were able to get our hands on this Gen-2 model which was wandering around near University Point. We've already learned a great deal from this specimen.”

“What's with the missing leg?” said Margot. She looked across at Knight-Captain Cade and Proctor Quinlan and saw that both men were frowning a little, as if they'd been wondering the same thing.

Scribe Neriah beamed.

“That brings me to the subject of our research... in fact, why don't you allow me to demonstrate what we've been doing? Scribe Holstein, please fetch Knight Passmore. He should be in the recreation area round about now.”

Scribe Holstein nodded, ran away, and returned a few moments later with a Brotherhood Knight in tow. Margot knew the dark-haired young man by sight, but not by name. She hadn't seen him around for a while, now that she thought about it – and when she looked down, she saw why. He was limping slightly as he walked, as if he found it difficult to set his right foot completely on the ground.

“Test Subject 5-A,” announced Scribe Holstein, gesturing to the man. “Knight Anthony Passmore. Accidental laser rifle discharge during a training exercise resulted in significant injury to the lower right leg. Severe burns and unsuccessful skin grafts resulted in a potentially life-threatening infection, which in turn necessitated immediate amputation below the knee.”

Margot covered her mouth, appalled.

“Oh my God... Knight Passmore, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?”

“Sure, ma'am, but I wish they'd stop calling me a test subject,” said Passmore, with an indignant look at Scribe Holstein. “C'mon, Ingrid, I thought we were on first-name terms these days!”

Scribe Holstein colored.

“Yes, well, I am _trying_ to be professional,” she mumbled. “Please, Anthony, work with me here. You know this is my first Scribe assignment.”

Knight Passmore grinned.

“All right, Test Subject 5-A at your service. What do you need me to do?”

“We'd like to see how your leg is doing, Knight Passmore,” said Scribe Neriah pleasantly. “Would you mind showing us how you're progressing after surgery?”

The Knight saluted.

“Yes, ma'am. Right away.”

He removed his right boot and rolled up the leg of his jumpsuit. Proctor Quinlan and Knight-Captain Cade reeled backward in shock, and Margot gasped. In place of what had once been flesh and bone was steel, encased in chalk-white artificial skin; it extended up to the knee, where a row of stitches marked the boundary between man and machine.

“And how is the prosthesis working out so far?” Scribe Neriah asked him. “Any pain or discomfort? Difficulties with movement? Significant mobility issues?”

Knight Passmore shook his head.

“No, ma'am, no pain. Takes a little getting used to, I guess, but I can move okay. I know it won't ever feel like my old leg did, but hey, at least I can walk again. That's good, right?”

Scribe Neriah smiled kindly.

“That's very good. Well done, Passmore. You're making excellent progress. If you have any problems, come see me right away. Okay?”

Passmore nodded, and saluted.

“Yes, ma'am. _Ad victoriam._ ”

“ _Ad victoriam,_ Knight. You can go now. Holstein, please escort him back to the recreation area.”

Scribe Holstein extended her arm and put it round the Knight's shoulders, guiding him back out of the research area. Stunned, Margot watched them go.

“You took a leg off a Gen-2 synth and put it on a human being?” she said, not sure what to make of this new development. “But that's - ”

“Very inventive!” marveled Proctor Quinlan. “Positively ingenious!”

“It's certainly an interesting line of inquiry,” said Knight-Captain Cade, more cautiously, although he looked intrigued by the idea. “We've been working on artificial limb replacements for years, but until now, we never made any real progress. Wooden legs and the like were positively medieval compared to what could be done before the Great War, but it was all we had to work with after we lost Scribe Rothchild and his research. This could be a significant step forward in terms of medical technology. Research like this could even help us to create better artificial prostheses, without having to make use of the Institute's handiwork.”

“Precisely!” said Scribe Neriah proudly. “Initial results have been _very_ promising. Right now, we only have Gen-1 and Gen-2 limbs to work with, but once we start getting our hands on the Gen-3 models, we'll be able to make real strides with our research.”

Margot went pale.

“E-excuse me?” she managed to stammer out. “You – you want to use Gen-3s for – for _spare parts?_ ”

“Why not?” said Scribe Neriah cheerily. “We can replace lost arms and legs with something that looks and functions exactly like the real thing! And the best part is, it doesn't even have to end there! We could use these Gen-3 synths for blood donations, skin grafts - even organ transplants! Just imagine the potential!”

A Knight in sunglasses was passing by the catwalk, whistling cheerfully, but the tune dwindled and died on his lips as he overheard the conversation; for a second he turned, appalled, to stare at the senior Scribe, but then he seemed to remember himself, and scurried away. As he left, however, he cast a glance over his shoulder at Margot and for a second, their gazes connected.

Margot felt slightly nauseous.

“And what about the drawbacks?” she said weakly. “You don't think this has the potential to go horribly wrong?”

Scribe Neriah's look of scientific elation seemed to fade, but it was quickly overtaken by a new, more thoughtful expression.

“Well, infection control is crucial, and we'll need to find some way of mass-producing immunosuppressant drugs in order to prevent the rejection of any artificial limbs or other organs by the host, at least until we can determine the extent to which synth parts are compatible with the human body,” she said, starting to nod, as if in agreement with whatever was going on inside her head. “Some of our test subjects have also experienced psychological issues during the course of their recovery. The first few found the idea of synth limbs being grafted onto their bodies a little unsettling at first, and Test Subject 4-J – I mean Knight Windermere - eventually asked for her new Gen-1 arm to be removed. Rather a shame, after all that work.”

She looked briefly perturbed by the idea, then brightened again.

“However, we're finding that counseling has been very helpful to our patients, and after we reassured them that they're no less human because of a synthetic arm or leg, most of them appear to have recovered well from their surgery,” she continued. “Knight Passmore is the first to be fitted with a Gen-2 limb, and we're all delighted with his progress so far. We eventually hope to upgrade to a Gen-3 replacement, which should bring about improved motor function, with the added benefit of a more cosmetically pleasing result. Of course, we'll have to find a Gen-3 synth first...”

Margot tried not to shudder at the thought that there was already a Gen-3 synth within easy reach of the Brotherhood. She kept thinking of him being set upon by overenthusiastic Science Scribes with scalpels and eager, gleaming eyes.

“I hope you're not getting any funny ideas about making my protégé your next test subject, Neriah,” she said, with more than a hint of warning in her tone. “Because if you are, then you can take this as a direct order to stay the hell away from him. Don't even _think_ about trying to incorporate Danse into this program of yours.”

Scribe Neriah looked horrified.

“Of course not! Danse is far too valuable a military asset to be used for spare parts! That would be a complete waste of resources!”

“Although if you could encourage him to continue his efforts as a blood donor, that would be very much appreciated,” Knight-Captain Cade cut in. “Synthetic blood appears to be entirely interchangeable with the human variety, and his ongoing participation in the Brotherhood's blood donation program will continue to help save the lives of our brothers and sisters.”

 _Spare parts,_ Margot thought, with a sick, chilly feeling in her stomach. _This is wrong. Really wrong._

“I don't like this,” she said out loud.

“I know some people may find the concept of using synth parts on humans distasteful,” Scribe Neriah admitted. “But think of the potential good this will do for the Brotherhood! Harmful technology which once posed a threat to humanity will be turned into something which has the power to help human beings recover from life-changing injuries. Being able to replace missing limbs, and restore crippled soldiers to full health - ”

“Are you crazy?” Margot burst out, appalled. “Snatching people and using them to – to replace other people? You realize that was exactly the kind of thing the Institute used to do? How can we claim to be any better than them if we're engaging in the same kind of unethical behavior?”

“They're not _people_ , Paladin,” Proctor Quinlan reminded her. “They're synths. I know the Gen-3 synths may resemble human beings closely enough to fool the rest of us, but ultimately, they're just things. I wish they didn't exist at all, but since they do, we might as well make use of an existing resource.”

 _Danse is not a resource!_ Margot wanted to scream. _He's not a thing! He's a person! A living, breathing man who loves the Brotherhood and – and me! And I love him! I won't stand by and let you do things like this to people like him! They're people! Don't you understand? It's not right!_

“Excuse me,” she muttered instead, beneath the weight of their stares. “I need to go...”

She made it as far as the end of the catwalk before the shaking started. Her ribs tightened like a vice around her heart and lungs, and she leaned against the railing for support, sobbing and gasping for breath as the panic attack started to take hold.

“It's not right,” said a voice behind her.

Margot turned, with streaming eyes, and saw Deacon standing on the catwalk. She hadn't been mistaken. He was wearing an orange uniform jumpsuit and his usual sunglasses, but not his usual grin; he looked sad and subdued.

“You heard what they were saying?” she said.

Deacon nodded.

“Yeah. I thought I'd heard some pretty messed-up stuff in my time, but using synths as spare parts for wounded soldiers? Sounds like one of those urban legends from before the war. You know the deal. Some poor bastard goes out for a drink one night and wakes up in a hotel bathtub full of ice, with one of his kidneys already halfway over the border. What'd they call that? Organ trafficking?”

“Yeah,” Margot agreed. She wiped her watering eyes. “It's all kinds of fucked-up, Deacs.”

Deacon grimaced.

“You can say that again, boss. Yeesh.”

He looked over at the research laboratory area, where Proctor Quinlan and Scribe Neriah were still deep in discussion, and shook his head.

“You know, you were right, what you said back there,” he said, dropping his voice to a murmur. “About the Brotherhood being just as bad as the Institute. I _still_ say you should've worked with us instead of the Minutemen and these bozos. We had a nice little contingency plan going in case your Brotherhood buddies decided to come knocking over at HQ one day. We could still use it, if you want.”

Margot gave him a long, suspicious look.

“Contingency plan?”

“Yeah, Tinker Tom and I were gonna 'jack that Vertibird on top of Cambridge Police Station, fly over here, and use some of our explosive stockpile to pop this balloon of theirs for good,” Deacon said casually, as if blowing up a rival faction's headquarters was just business as usual. “Of course, we put all those plans on ice after you took out the Institute and things settled down, but if the Brotherhood are getting funny ideas about farming Gen-3s for spare parts, well... let's just say I'm still open to suggestions.”

“Are you kidding me?” Margot hissed, horrified. “No way! I know you don't like some of the things they do, Deacon, but there are good people here in the Brotherhood! People who signed up to save the world from Raiders and Super Mutants, or study tech and old books all day! They don't deserve to get hurt!”

Deacon pulled another face.

“I'm sure there were some good people in the Institute too. Didn't stop you from pressing that button, though. Some things are _way_ too screwed-up to be allowed to continue, and you know it. If we let the Brotherhood's R&D department carry on with this little body-snatching program of theirs, no synth in the Commonwealth will be safe. You have to do something about this, Margot.”

Margot's grip on the railings tightened.

“I know, Deacs. I'm not going to let anything happen to any of our mutual friends, okay? Look, I'll talk to Elder Maxson. He'll put a stop to this... when he finds out Neriah and the Scribes are trying to use synth parts on people, he'll flip and shut the whole thing down. Maybe not for the right reasons, but he'll shut it down all the same. All I have to do is tell him how _degrading_ and _dehumanizing_ it is to graft robot parts onto human beings, and we won't ever have to worry about it again. He'll forbid the practice faster than you can say _ad victoriam_.”

Deacon started to grin.

“Rather talk it out, huh? Well, we don't call you Charmer back at the office for nothing. You should probably wait until Maxson's sweetheart gives him the thumbs-up on the marriage proposal, though. Catch the grouchy bastard in a more receptive mood. Maybe knock back a couple of beers and put on your lucky fedora for good measure.”

Margot smirked in response.

“I think it might take more than a few drinks and a lucky hat to win Maxson over. I don't think he's _ever_ in the mood for an unexpected visit from me.”

Deacon's grin broadened considerably.

“Maybe not, but it looks like _somebody's_ looking forward to your company,” he said, leaning past her to look.

Margot peered over the railings and saw that Danse was approaching; she was used to listening for the thunderous sound of clanking Power Armor, but now, shorn of his suit, he moved more quietly, like everyone else. She still wondered how she could have missed him when she looked for his face constantly in crowds, no matter where she went. She felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of him, and the familiar tense, breathless feeling she got whenever he was nearby.

“And on that note, I think I'll leave you two alone,” said Deacon, grinning again. “ _Ad victoriam,_ you crazy lovebirds.”

Margot's mouth opened. She was about to ask how he knew, but there seemed to be little point in airing the question.

_Deacon 101. He knows. Nobody knows how he knows, but he does. That time he claimed to have psychic powers was probably bullshit, but then again, it's hard to tell with him. Perhaps he really is a Psyker, and he deliberately got my birthday wrong so I wouldn't suspect anything. Sounds like something he'd do just to mess with me..._

“ _Ad victoriam,_ Knight Rockatansky,” she answered. “Just leave this one to me, okay? I think I can take care of this one without too much trouble. And if it turns out that I need to start causing trouble after all, well, all I have to do is open my mouth. That usually does the trick.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” said Deacon, over his shoulder. “But hey - if you change your mind, just holler. You know I'm never far away.”

With a little grin and an even smaller salute, he went to the stairs. Margot watched him disappear into the lower reaches of the ship, then looked up again at Danse's approach.

“Danse,” she said, relieved. “There you are. I was worried. How's Belasco doing?”

“Awake,” Danse responded. “I left him talking with Knight-Sergeant Ellens. Knight-Sergeant Woods informed me that you were with Scribe Neriah and I felt that I should report in to - ”

He blinked, and looked a little closer at her face.

“Have you been crying?”

Lying was pointless, thought Margot. The evidence was all over her face. She nodded unhappily and tried to turn away, but felt his hand catch her elbow and turn her back around to face him. She looked up and saw his eyes; calm, quiet, sad.

“What's wrong?”

“Scribe Neriah's working on a new project,” she said bitterly, looking away. “She's experimenting on synths, and people. Trying to graft parts of one onto the other. Replacing people's missing limbs with synth arms and legs. She wants to start using captured Gen-3s for spare parts, Danse.”

“Oh,” said Danse, taken aback. “I – well, I can certainly see why that would upset you. Do you think she has plans for me?”

“She says no,” said Margot. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and then on the back of her hand. “But Danse... it's not just that it's not right. She can't see _why_ it's not right. She and Quinlan, and even Cade – they think synths are just things. Like that one component in their heads makes them disposable, or – or expendable. They don't see any difference between you volunteering as a blood donor and a bunch of Scribes trying to snatch some poor Gen-3 off the streets of Boston to harvest them for limbs and organs!”

“The concept does seem rather distasteful,” said Danse. He looked disgusted, as if the very idea had left a bad taste in his mouth. “Bringing back enemy corpses for autopsy and further examination is one thing, but taking non-combatants off the streets for experimentation – I thought we'd put a stop to things like that when we took down the Institute. To see that kind of amoral behavior crop up here, in the _Brotherhood_ of all places... simply appalling. What if the Science Scribes were to accidentally mistake a human being for a Gen-3 and attempt to strip them for parts?”

“What if they captured someone good like you?” Margot wailed. “Someone harmless like Curie, or – or – oh God, Danse, we can't let this go on. We can't. It's _wrong!_ ”

Danse's face grew cold and hard.

“You're right, Paladin. This project of Neriah's is entirely inappropriate. Elder Maxson needs to be informed of these developments. We should report to him immediately.”

He took a few steps toward the stairs, then turned back.

“Paladin? Are you all right?”

Margot shook her head, then burst into tears. Danse's eyes widened, and he hurried back to her side.

“It's all right, we'll put a stop to this,” he promised her, as she wept. “Come on, soldier. Chin up. There's no need to cry over the issue.”

But Margot kept crying - she couldn't seem to stop, not even when Danse laid his hand on her shoulder. She knew it was the best he could do to comfort her in the circumstances, when there were other people in the vicinity, but it simply wasn't enough.

“What's the matter?” he said, after a few moments. “Did Scribe Neriah dissect a Gen-3 in her lab? Is that the reason for your distress?”

Margot shook her head again.

“No. A Gen-2. But the way she was talking – she sounded _excited_ about it, Danse. They all did. They kept talking about what a boon it would be to their research, and that synths aren't even people - ”

“Gen-2s _aren't_ people, though,” Danse said. “Except for Valentine,” he added in haste, as he saw her eyebrows lower with displeasure, “although I'll concede that he's a special case. His personality is very much human, even if the rest of him doesn't quite meet that standard. The others, though - they don't even _look_ human. I don't think they were supposed to. Damn scientists... trying to be too clever for their own good and giving _things_ free will. Synths should never have been anything more than mindless robots. Attempting to make them look and act like humans was a catastrophic mistake.”

Margot let out a long, impatient sigh.

“I don't want to get into an argument about this, Danse. Now is not the time.”

Danse relented.

“Understood,” he said. He patted her on the arm. “Come on. Let's see what we can do to resolve this problem.”

Margot felt his hand brush lightly against her back as he escorted her downstairs. She reached instinctively for his arm as they walked, only to panic and immediately retract her hand as an excited teenage Initiate came barreling past them.

“ _She said yes!”_ he was yelling, at the top of his voice, as he tore along the catwalk. _“She said yes! Scribe Harper said yes! Elder Maxson's getting married!”_

A buzz of excitement rose up from the decks of the _Prydwen_ , and with them, a few loud cheers.

“I thought she was going to say maybe,” said Margot at last, shaking her head. “Not _yes._ ”

Danse's brow furrowed in consternation.

“You told her to say that?”

“I didn't tell her to say _anything_ ,” Margot said, the words tumbling nervously from her mouth before she could think to stop them. “It was merely a friendly reminder that it was an option. She was torn between yes or no, so I provided her with a compromise until she could make up her mind. That's all.”

She'd imagined an indignant outburst, or a low growl of displeasure. Instead, she heard a patient sigh escape Danse's lips.

“What am I going to do with you, Paladin?”

“Weeell, now that you mention it, I might have a few ideas,” she said, with a sly, teasing hint of a smile.

Danse's eyebrows shot up.

“Something tells me you aren't just talking about training exercises, soldier.”

“Oh, no,” Margot said loftily. “I have something _much_ better in mind.”

Danse looked truly dumbfounded.

“Better than a training exercise?”

“I was thinking dinner,” Margot said, grinning. “And a movie. _Grognak the Barbarian_ 's still showing. Unless you'd rather go on maneuvers than spend the evening with your favorite Paladin?”

“Negative,” said Danse hurriedly. “I mean, uh – yes. Affirmative. Absolutely. I'd love to.”

“Then it's a date,” Margot replied, with a smile. “Tomorrow night. Pick me up from my place at six, and we'll hike over to Starlight Drive-In to catch the late-night showing. Sound good to you?”

 _A date,_ thought Danse, suddenly lightheaded. _Margot and I are going on a date. Mother of Steel, what am I getting myself into?_

Trouble, he decided, as she looked up at him with a demure flutter of eyelashes. But the best possible kind. Either way, there was no way he could possibly say no to that face; ultimately, there seemed to be little else to do but to nod.

*

“Prydwen Command, this is Lancer-Captain James Conklin of the _Joyeuse_ , requesting permission for takeoff.”

“ _Acknowledged, Captain Conklin,”_ came the voice over the tannoy. _“Permission granted. Safe travels, brother, and best wishes to all at the Citadel.”_

“Thank you, Prydwen Command. _Ad victoriam!_ ”

Margot and Danse watched from the catwalk as the two Paladins who had accompanied Scribe Harper from the Capital Wasteland loudly bade their charge their goodbyes and congratulations, and climbed up into the _Joyeuse._

“Goodbye, sister,” Lancer-Captain Conklin called out from the cockpit, and saluted. “ _Ad victoriam!”_

“ _Ad victoriam,_ Captain,” said Scribe Harper, with heartfelt gratitude. “Thank you for delivering me safely to Elder Maxson. I think I'll be happy here.”

“Good to hear, ma'am. Look after Elder Maxson for us.”

Scribe Harper nodded.

“I will. Farewell, brother.”

Doors slammed, rotors whined, and then the _Joyeuse_ slipped free of the bonds of steel which attached her to the _Prydwen._ Margot caught sight of the words “ _Caput Inter Nubila Condit”_ painted on a side door as the Vertibird turned and rose. It shone silver and gold in the dying rays of sunlight, and then it was gone, soaring into a bank of thick white cloud, which claimed it gladly as its own.

 _She Hides Her Head Among The Clouds,_ Margot thought, as Scribe Harper waved a fond goodbye to the _Joyeuse,_ and considered the motto fitting.

The three of them stood on the flight deck, with the wind tugging insistently at their hair and clothes, and watched as the sun began to set.

“So what changed your mind?” said Margot at last.

Scribe Harper smiled.

“You know what you said before? About putting aside personal feelings and considering the facts in a more objective manner? Well, when I went to bed that night, that was what I did. I lay awake for a little while and weighed up all the pros and cons. After a while, I decided that perhaps marrying an Elder isn't so bad after all. For one thing, I'll be safe here with my husband – he's a good man, and I know that I can always rely on his protection. If he cares for me and treats me with respect and kindness, then I know I can find at least some contentment in his company. And when I found out that he likes Shakespeare... well, that kind of sealed the deal for me.”

Margot laughed.

“Won you over with the Bard, huh? He recites a few lines of poetry and suddenly that's it, you're crazy about the guy?”

Scribe Harper let out a soft laugh.

“I wouldn't put it like that, exactly, but when I saw his face light up like that... I thought he was some grumpy, formal Elder who never smiled, but all of a sudden he looked so _young_ , and happy. More like the boys I used to know back home. After that, we started talking, and he told me about his adventures at the Citadel, and what it was like growing up with Uncle Owyn and Cousin Sarah – he's a lot more interesting than I gave him credit for at first.”

“Arthur's a good man,” said Danse, looking over the railings and down at the ground far below. “I know he'll take good care of you, Scribe Harper. You'll want for nothing, and when you get to know him better, I have no doubt that the two of you will come to appreciate each other's company deeply.”

“Thank you, Knight-Captain Danse,” said Scribe Harper dutifully. “I'm sure you're right. Love at first sight... I'm starting to think that sort of thing only happens in books. It takes time to get to really know somebody. Maybe one day, he and I will grow to love each other.”

“I hope so, Scribe Harper,” Danse replied. “I realize that it's not easy to let down your defenses around other people, especially in a harsh and unforgiving environment like the wasteland. But learning how to trust someone completely - placing your heart and all your hopes in their hands, and allowing them to reciprocate - that's one of the most worthwhile things you'll ever learn to do. That mutual trust and respect will stand you in good stead as you learn how to care for one another, and from then on, it'll only be a matter of time. One day you'll wake up and realize that you love each other, and then you'll never look back.”

Scribe Harper looked at him with shining eyes.

“Really? You think so?” she said.

“I don't doubt it,” said Danse, with greater confidence. “I know that one day, you and Elder Maxson will grow to love each other very much. You'll have to be patient with him, and give him time, but I can assure you that you won't regret your decision to stay.”

A smile returned to Scribe Harper's face.

“You and Paladin de Havilland have been very kind to me, Knight-Captain Danse. I know how frustrating it must be to have a newcomer in your midst, shaking things up and asking stupid questions. But I appreciate it... I really do.”

“We're glad to help, sister,” Danse said, with a respectful salute.

“Agreed,” Margot broke in. “Danse and I both joined the Brotherhood as outsiders, so we know how you feel. It's strange, trying to settle into a new place and become accustomed to new people, new faces. But we'll do what we can to make you feel at home.”

Scribe Harper looked overwhelmed by the show of support; in an instant, her eyes filled up with tears. They shimmered like morning sunlight on the ocean, a glittering, brilliant blue.

“Thank you so much. Both of you... I was about ready to turn around and go home, especially after I heard some of the other women talking about me. They said that Elder Maxson should have married someone from within our chapter, not some stranger from Lost Hills. They said I was too young, and naive, and – and stupid – and they – they didn't want me here...”

Margot put a hand on Scribe Harper's small, slight shoulder as it shivered with sadness.

“Of course you're wanted here,” she said sympathetically, patting the tearful girl on the back. “They're just jealous because you were chosen to marry Elder Maxson and they weren't. They certainly don't speak for the rest of us. Look at Proctor Quinlan – he's _delighted_ that you're here. Scribe Haylen may not be a fan of arranged marriages, but she thinks you're a good kid. And we like you too. Don't we, Danse?”

“Affirmative,” said Danse, with a decisive nod. “You're a pleasant young woman with a lot to offer the Brotherhood, Scribe Harper. I think you'll make a perfect wife for Elder Maxson.”

“See?” said Margot encouragingly. “People are _happy_ you're here, Scribe Harper. You should have heard the cheers when one of the Initiates came running in with the good news.”

“Really?” said Scribe Harper, looking up again.

“Really,” Margot assured her. “You're going to make a beautiful bride and do the Brotherhood proud. So don't you listen to those other girls. You keep your head up high and show those jealous bitches what true Steel is made of. Okay?”

Scribe Harper wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked fiercely out at the setting sun.

“Yes, ma'am,” she said, this time with a touch of defiance. “I'll do what you said I should do and give them – what did you call it? The one-finger salute?”

Danse choked back a little sound which might have been shock, but Margot simply grinned, and clapped her on the back.

“Damn straight. You're a fast learner, sister. See? You're not stupid at all. You're a grown woman and you know what you're doing. Danse and I have absolute faith in you.”

“Indeed,” rumbled Danse. “And - ”

He stopped, mid-sentence, and squinted at the horizon.

“What's that?”

Margot and Scribe Harper leaned over the railings, peering into the distance. At first, they couldn't see anything, but then they caught a faint sound on the wind, saw a tiny wisp of smoke rising from the southwest, and spotted several specks of black against a darkening bank of gold-and-lilac clouds.

A hissing sound burst forth from the speakers of Margot's Pip-Boy. She raised her wrist curiously and tuned it to the incoming Brotherhood transmission.

“ _Prydwen Command, this is the Hoplon, Vertibird designation H4-22 Whiskey Alpha. Team X-Ray reporting in. Someone order a Vertibird? Or three? I – damn it, soldier, what are you doing? Keep that thing straight! It's busted up enough as it is! Fucking Gunners, trashing our 'birds... worthless merc bastards...”_

“Lancer-Sergeant Greer,” announced Margot. “This is Paladin de Havilland. Wrong frequency. Try the next notch up on the dial if you're hailing Command.”

“ _Motherfucker - not again!_ ” she heard the pilot curse loudly. _“That's the third time this month! That Pip-Boy of yours is tuned way too close to the Prydwen Command frequency, de Havilland! You need to change the settings and stop picking up incoming Vertibird signals!”_

“How else am I supposed to pick up all the really good gossip?” Margot said, with a wicked laugh.

“ _Pssh. Very funny. You're not supposed to have the Brotherhood encryption codes installed on that thing anyway. What if you were taken captive by the enemy?”_

“Frankly, I'd feel sorry for the enemy who tried to take me captive!” Margot joked. “After ten minutes in my company, they'd probably beg me to leave.”

“ _Get off the line, damn it!”_

Margot rolled her eyes.

“All right, all right. Keep your flight suit on, Greer. De Havilland out.”

“That didn't take long,” observed Danse, as the specks on the horizon became darker, more distinct forms, and then the outlines of four approaching Vertibirds.

“Are those the missing Vertibirds that Elder Maxson was talking about?” said Scribe Harper, astounded.

“Looks like it,” Margot remarked. “I count the _Hoplon_ , plus three more. I'd bet a week's pay on them being the _Glaive, Hasta_ and _Pugio_. Judging by the column of smoke in that direction, I'd say they found them in Quincy. Or what's left of it, anyway.”

“Wow,” marveled the young Scribe. “They really found all of them? Team X-Ray are _amazing!_ ”

“Hey, Danse - sounds like we have a new lifetime member of the Paladin Rex Fan Club,” said Margot, giving Danse a playful nudge in the ribs.

“And who could blame her?” Danse answered. “The men and women of Team X-Ray are some of our finest – their track record in the field has been impressive.”

“I'm surprised they haven't asked you to join them, Danse,” Margot teased him. “I thought you were one of the best we have. How come you weren't invited out on their field missions?”

Danse looked mildly irritated.

“If you're implying that I wasn't asked, soldier, then you're mistaken. I was asked to join Team X-Ray on _multiple_ occasions. I declined. Much as I admire their skill-set and their enthusiasm for their work, they're a very close-knit team with a... rather unique subculture. I didn't consider myself a good fit for their unit. You, on the other hand – I think you'd fit in perfectly. Perhaps you should reconsider Rex's offer after all.”

“Nah,” said Margot casually. “Don't get me wrong, hanging with Team X-Ray sounds like a bunch of fun, but I think I'd rather stick with you, Danse. Hate to break up the dream team after all we've been through together.”

That provoked a little smile from Danse.

“I'm glad to hear it, soldier. Recon Squad Gladius wouldn't be the same without you.”

They watched from the empty dock as the light began to fade from the sky and the flock of Vertibirds drew closer. At last, the _Hoplon_ reached the empty space which the _Joyeuse_ had recently vacated in Dock One, and docked with practiced ease. The other three Vertibirds dived low, towards the airport, circling lower until they each found a landing spot on the tarmac hundreds of feet below.

“Daddy's home!” roared Paladin Rex, grinning, and jumped down onto the flight deck. He was clad in one of the largest suits of T-60 Power Armor the Brotherhood had to offer; the entire deck seemed to shudder as he landed, much to Scribe Harper's horror. “Heard the good news! Congratulations, Scribe Harper! Welcome to the family!”

He picked up the terrified Scribe and almost crushed her in a bear hug.

“Th-thank you, Paladin Rex,” she managed to gasp. “I'm honored to be here... ow...”

“Be careful, Henry!” scolded Field Scribe Danvers, climbing down neatly after him. “I know you had new shock absorbers put in that Power Armor of yours, but really! Are you trying to crush the poor girl? Put her down, for Steel's sake!”

Unabashed, Paladin Rex put down Scribe Harper and scooped up the other Scribe instead.

“Don't worry, babycakes, you're still my favorite Scribe,” he told her, still grinning. “Didn't I promise you dinner when we got back?”

“Sounds good to me, Daddy,” said Danvers, brightening. She added, hopefully: “Deathclaw steak?”

Paladin Rex laughed.

“Anything for my girl!”

He kissed Danvers roughly and then slung her over his shoulder, carrying her away as she giggled, kicked and squealed in mock protest.

Scribe Harper pulled a face.

“ _Daddy?”_ she said critically. “That's – odd. Why on earth does she call him that?”

“Big Daddy,” explained Lancer-Sergeant Greer, as she got out of the cockpit. “It's his callsign. We all have one. Field Scribe Danvers is “Meds”, because she's our team medic. I'm “Wings”, for obvious reasons, but mostly they call me “Randy” - short for Miranda, because that's my name. I also answer to “Maestro”, “The Best Damn Pilot in the Brotherhood”, or “Your Majesty”, depending on my mood. Which is not very good right now, considering what _those motherfucking Gunners_ did to my baby! Look at her! They got blood _all over her_ when they died! Those inconsiderate bastards!”

She took a dishrag from the pocket of her flight suit and started to fuss over the fresh bloodstains on the _Hoplon_ 's paint.

“Blood's the worst... shit, I think I'm going to have to repaint her again... I hate Gunners.”

“You know what I love about Gunners?” declared Paladin Vries, as he got out of the Vertibird. “All the free shit we get when they die! Whoo! Got me some good loot today!”

“What'd you get this time, Vries?” said Margot conversationally.

“Three hundred caps, two laser pistols, four Stimpaks, a bunch of frag grenades, and _this_ ,” Vries announced, pulling a sword out from behind his back. “Check it out – it's one of those old Chinese officer swords! Haven't seen one of these babies since D.C.! This one's going on the trophy wall for sure!”

“Nice find,” said Margot, impressed. “Used to have one of those myself. Broke it in half when I stuck it through a Feral Ghoul. Cheap-ass Commie garbage. Looked pretty cool while it lasted, though.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Vries said, still beaming with pride. “Wait till Teagan sees this shit, he'll go nuts! He loves these old swords. Speaking of which -  _Grunt!_ ” he said, bellowing out the last word. “Hurry the fuck up with that ordnance! Team Leader wants that Minigun cleaned and ready to go for the next run! Move your ass or we'll boot you back to Reclamation Team Tango!”

Initiate Fowler scrambled out of the aircraft, carrying two military-issue duffle bags and Paladin Rex's pride and joy – _Big Daddy_ , the fearsome quad-barreled Minigun with which he shared his infamous nickname – slung on his back.

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbled, and hurried away, bent almost double under the weight of the weaponry.

“And what do you do, Paladin?” said Scribe Harper politely.

Vries saluted.

“Explosives expert and loot reclamation specialist, ma'am,” he said. “Name's Vries. They call me Swag. If you want something blown up or ripped out of enemy hands, I'm the guy to do it.”

“Fascinating,” said Scribe Harper, rather weakly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hey, Vries, someone's pleased to meet you,” snickered Paladin DeMarco, jumping out of the Vertibird. “That's a first.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tack,” said Vries, rolling his eyes. “The only member of _your_ family people are pleased to see is your mom.”

“Ouch, never saw that one coming!” said DeMarco, pressing his hand dramatically to his heart, but then he grinned again, the insult forgotten in an instant. He patted the side of his Power-Armored thigh and whistled into the back of the cockpit. “Hey, O.G.! We're home! Come on out!”

A happy bark answered the call. Its owner – a sturdy Rottweiler adorned with Brotherhood dog armor and a Stars-and-Stripes bandana – leaped out from the _Hoplon_ and almost knocked over her handler.

“Easy, girl!” laughed DeMarco, as his canine charge leaped up to lick his face. He nudged the dog gently aside. “Hey, come on! Settle down! You know the rules - all four on the floor!”

The dog sat down immediately, with a more placid expression.

“There's a good girl. Why don't you go say hi to de Havilland for a sec? I'm gonna grab something from the back real quick...”

Margot stooped down to make a fuss of the dog as DeMarco ducked back into the Vertibird. Old Glory, affectionately known as “O.G.”, was one of three attack dogs owned by Team X-Ray; the other two, Maximus and Brutus, had notoriously mean temperaments, but Margot had to admit that she was fond of their littermate, who reminded her a little of Dogmeat in her joyful exuberance.

“Hey, pretty girl!” she cooed. “Did you have a good walk today? Bite a bunch of Gunners where it hurts?”

O.G. panted happily.

“Good girl!” said Margot, laughing. She ruffled the fur on the dog's head. “I'll have to bring your buddy Dogmeat over to play with you sometime. Would you like that? Huh?”

“We could use some more puppies,” admitted DeMarco, re-emerging with a Power Fist. “A lot of the dogs are getting older now and Brutus isn't as fast as he used to be - we can't really take him out in the field any more. Why don't you bring Dogmeat by the kennels sometime and reintroduce him to his favorite girl?”

“Paladin de Havilland, canine matchmaker, at your service,” said Margot, with a jokey salute. She inclined her head towards the pneumatic gauntlet in his hands. “Nice Power Fist, by the way.”

“Thanks. Pulled it off some Gunner bitch named Tessa,” said DeMarco proudly, wiping off some drying blood from the metallic knuckles. “She didn't hand it over without a fight, but... ehh, we got her in the end. Herschel got her Power Armor too. Hey, Fox! Show her your new rig!”

Paladin Herschel climbed out, grinning from one ear to the other. He was wearing a very battered Power Armor frame, with most of the plating either severely dented or missing. Danse let out a groan.

“Oh, for the love of... Herschel, what in the hell did you do to that Power Armor?”

“You do realize I had to _kill_ the bitch to get it off her, Danse?” said Herschel, with a pained look. “I had to sneak up behind her with a Stealth Boy and shoot out the fusion core while she and DeMarco were fighting over that Power Fist. Explosion took her out, but it also took off most of the plating in the process. It's gonna take _days_ to get this suit back into serviceable condition.”

“You know Ingram's gonna kill you when you bring that thing in to Engineering?” said Greer, who was still wiping the blood off the side of the _Hoplon_ , with the patiently exasperated expression of a busy mother trying to wipe dirt from her child's face.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Herschel grumbled. “Lucky for me, she owes me a favor...”

“Lucky isn't the word _I'd_ use, Fox,” said a serene female voice from inside the Vertibird. “She's gonna tear you a new one over this shit, and you know it.”

“Paladin Rouche,” Danse greeted the final member of the team, as she climbed down from the Vertibird with her sniper rifle still strapped to her back. “Good to see you, sister.”

“Likewise,” said Rouche, with a curt nod. “Heard about Belasco, by the way. News came in on the radio - poor bastard. How's he holding up?”

“Doing a little better now,” Danse reported. “Knight-Captain Cade assures us he'll make a full recovery.”

Rouche seemed pleased.

“Good. I've got a present for him. DeMarco said he wanted to give that Power Fist to Ellens, so I figured I'd bring back a little souvenir for Belasco too. Get a load of this!”

She turned and grabbed something from the back of the Vertibird, and threw it to Danse. He caught it automatically and looked down, startled, to find himself holding an old, bloodstained Army helmet. There were two bullet holes bored through the metal – one at the front, and another one at the back, perfectly aligned by an expert marksman.

“Through-and-through,” Danse remarked, and passed the helmet back. “I'm... sure he'll be very pleased with your handiwork, Paladin.”

“Yeah, that was some nice shooting back there, Rip,” said Vries approvingly.

Rouche grinned evilly and exchanged a triumphant high-five with him.

“Of course it was. Team X-Ray, baby! We only take the best!”

“Excuse me, ma'am, but I'm curious,” said Scribe Harper, touching the sniper lightly on the arm, as the other woman unwrapped a stick of bubblegum and popped it into her mouth. “How did you get your nickname?”

Rouche turned and pulled the sniper rifle from her back.

“It's because _Zero_ and I are a lethal combination on the battlefield,” she said, proudly toting the weapon. “Over two hundred confirmed kills... and counting. _Rest In Peace,_ motherfuckers.”

Scribe Harper was starting to look a little nervous, but she ventured:

“ _Zero?”_

Rouche blew a neat bubble, then drew the gum back into her mouth and continued chewing.

“Chance of survival,” she replied, with a deadly calm in her voice. “Once the enemy's in my scope, that's it - they're done. Nobody ever escapes.”

“W-well done, Paladin,” Scribe Harper managed to quaver. “That's very impressive.”

Rouche grinned broadly, and slung the rifle onto her back.

“You're goddamn right it is. Now if you'll excuse me, sister, I have places to be...”

“Yeah, me too,” agreed DeMarco, raising himself up from the railings where he'd been idly leaning. “Come on, O.G., let's grab some chow. You hungry, girl?”

O.G. barked, and trotted after him.

“You guys go on without me, I'm gonna hit the showers,” Herschel called out. “I could use a stint in the rain lockers after Gunners, muties and two damn days in the field.”

“Yeah, Hersch, you smell like a Mole Rat's asshole,” Vries snickered, as he passed him.

“Coming from you, Vries, that's almost a professional opinion,” Herschel shot straight back. “Hey, Greer - you coming in or what?”

“Nah, I'm gonna stay out here for a while and clean up _Hoplon_ ,” said Greer. She looked over at Margot, Harper and Danse. “You guys might wanna head inside, though. It's getting dark out and I think there's a storm rolling in. Not a good night to be out on the flight deck.”

Margot sniffed the air. It was thick and damp with the promise of rain.

“Yeah, you're probably right,” she admitted. “Come on, Danse, let's get back inside. Probably about time we started packing up anyway. We - ”

A door slammed back on its hinges, further up the flight deck, interrupting Margot mid-thought. She looked up at the sound of movement and marching feet, and saw Lancer-Captain Kells striding down the stairs with an unusually grim expression on his face. Trailing behind him were several teenage Initiates, a meekly-marching Knight Reuben and Knight Fletcher - and Knight Van Dien, who was being dragged along roughly by his wrists by two Knights in Power Armor. Behind them were a dour-looking Knight-Commander Elgin; Proctor Quinlan; Knight-Sergeant Ellens; the ever-present Star Paladin Hopkins; and finally, Elder Maxson, whose face seemed to have been carved from the coldest and hardest of stone.

“Please!” Van Dien was begging them, as they frogmarched him across the deck. “Please, no – I said I was sorry! I didn't mean for anybody to get hurt!”

“Shut up and face your punishment like a man, you sniveling little maggot!” snarled Knight-Commander Elgin, giving him a rough shove forward when he tried to stop and plead again for mercy. “Your actions have already brought disgrace on your unit, your commanding officer, and the Brotherhood of Steel – one more word out of you and I'll throw you off the _Prydwen_ myself!”

“Knight-Commander Elgin!” ordered Lancer-Captain Kells, as the procession stopped at the center of the flight deck. “Have your men brought before Elder Maxson for judgment!”

The anonymous Knights manhandled Van Dien until he was kneeling, handcuffed, at Elder Maxson's feet, then they brought forward Knight Reuben – her eyes were red and puffy, as though she'd been crying heavily – and a pale, silent Knight Fletcher, who was looking nervously this way and that.

Elder Maxson glowered at the three of them as his bodyguard went to stand by his side.

“You stand here before your Elder, charged with the crimes of dereliction of duty and culpable negligence,” Proctor Quinlan intoned. “Each of you has pleaded not guilty to the charges brought before you, and your defenses have been heard. It now stands to our Elder to pass judgment in the name of the Brotherhood of Steel!”

“Knight Elizabeth Reuben,” announced Elder Maxson. “I understand that you entrusted Knight Belasco's care temporarily to one of your brothers while you went to aid an injured Squire. Having heard the facts before me, it is clear that you acted in good faith, with the full intention of returning immediately to resume your duties, and so I find you not guilty of all charges. You may return to your post.”

Knight Reuben gasped with relief, and saluted.

“Thank you, sir...”

She departed in haste, as if she feared that he might change his mind and order her back for further punishment. Elder Maxson turned his attention to the next man.

“Knight Daniel Fletcher. Despite your failure to properly consult your commanding officer and request that you be formally relieved of your duty toward Knight Belasco, I find that you did not act recklessly in asking Knight Van Dien to take your place, and that your expectation that your brother would provide an appropriate level of supervision was not unreasonable. On behalf of the Brotherhood of Steel, I find you not guilty of dereliction of duty and culpable negligence, although your technical breach of the requirements of The Chain That Binds still necessitates some penalty. You are hereby docked one week's pay and placed on restricted duties for the next month. The record of this infraction will be removed from your Scroll after one calendar year, provided that you continue to display good conduct. You are dismissed.”

Knight Fletcher bowed deeply.

“Thank you, sir... _ad victoriam._ ”

“Knight Nicholas Van Dien,” said Elder Maxson, eyes narrowing as he turned to Knight Van Dien. “After Knight Belasco was entrusted to your care by one of your brothers, you not only failed in your duty to properly supervise him, but acted with reckless disregard for his safety. You provided him with the means to self-harm, left him unattended despite being told not to do so, and then compounded your errors by failing to check on his welfare or whereabouts. Had it not been for the prompt intervention of Knight-Sergeant Ellens and our medical personnel, your irresponsible actions would undoubtedly have resulted in Knight Belasco's death.”

 _Danse saved him too,_ thought Margot, irritated by the omission. _Damn it, Maxson, can't you even say his name in front of other people?_

“On behalf of the Brotherhood, I find you guilty of dereliction of duty and culpable negligence resulting in severe injury to another member of personnel,” Elder Maxson continued, tight-lipped with fury. “You are hereby docked three months' pay and demoted to the rank of Aspirant. Your Power Armor privileges are to be revoked with immediate effect following your demotion, and you will be confined to the _Prydwen_ until further notice.”

Van Dien let out a loud, disappointed groan.

“ _Aspirant?_ But sir - ”

“I'm not done with you yet!” Maxson interrupted him. “The gravity of your offense also requires that a sentence of corporal punishment be issued. I therefore sentence you to be flogged – fifty lashes. The punishment will be carried out by Lancer-Captain Kells, as he is responsible for the actions of all personnel on board this vessel. Your brothers and sisters will stand witness to ensure that the punishment is duly carried out.”

Even from a distance, Margot saw the way the man's eyes widened in terror. He opened his mouth to protest, more fearfully, but it was too late; the Knights in Power Armor were already hauling him to his feet.

“No – no, please!” he implored them, as they tore the undershirt from his back and shackled him to the nearest railing. “Have mercy!”

“This _is_ mercy, you cowardly son of a bitch!” snapped Ellens, a few feet away. “You deserve worse than this! Belasco almost died because of you!”

“All right, Knight-Sergeant, that's enough,” Lancer-Captain Kells ordered. “Please stand aside.”

One of the Knights placed a whip in Kells' hand. He took it, rather reluctantly, and approached Knight Van Dien.

“Knight Van Dien,” he said out loud, drawing back his hand. “Know that I take no pleasure in this punishment, but our Elder has ordered me to carry out this sentence in his name, and it is my duty to ensure that the righteous justice of the Brotherhood is properly exacted.”

“Brothers and sisters! Bear witness to this man's punishment, and learn from his mistakes!” Knight-Commander Elgin roared. “For the Brotherhood!”

Danse and Margot both flinched at the _crack_ of the whip, and the scream of agony which issued from Van Dien's mouth. Scribe Harper went pale with horror and covered her mouth.

“Oh, how horrible!” she said faintly. “That poor man...!”

“Don't feel bad for him, sister,” said Lancer-Sergeant Greer, getting to her feet. There was no trace of sympathy to be found in her face, even as another scream rang out across the flight deck. “He thought that reading some dumbass comic book was more important than watching out for one of his brothers, even after he was warned that Belasco was suicidal. Giving the guy a razor and leaving him alone? He's lucky nobody threw him over the side after pulling a stunt like that.”

Margot shuddered involuntarily, and clung to the nearest railing. She didn't want to think about being picked up and thrown from the _Prydwen_. She could still remember the look in Knight Payne's eyes, and the mad laughter as he'd stomped down on her fingers, trying to make her let go.

Danse looked on, with a sick sensation in his stomach, as Van Dien's punishment continued. Blood was running down the young soldier's back as he howled for mercy, and yet the whip continued to crack, scoring fresh wounds deep into bare flesh. Some of the younger Initiates looked sickened by the sight of blood and screaming, and Proctor Quinlan seemed to be trying not to cover his eyes, but Knight-Sergeant Ellens simply stared with a dead, distant expression; Danse wondered if it was upsetting her, deep down, or if her own mistreatment had left her so numb to horror and violence that she'd become accustomed to the sight of human suffering.

“Brothers! Sisters! Tell me who we are!” hollered Knight-Commander Elgin, from the sidelines.

“ _We are the Brotherhood of Steel!”_ chorused the Initiates, as one.

“And what are we?”

“ _We are vigilant!"_

_Crack._

Van Dien arched his back and let out another bloodcurdling scream as the whip drew a fresh line of red between his shoulders.

“ _We are mindful of our actions!”_

_Crack._

“ _We are unfailing in our obedience!”_

“Oh, God!” Van Dien was shrieking, but his cries went unheeded. “Make it stop! _Please!_ ”

_Crack._

“ _We are attentive to our duties!”_

As the soldier's screams of pain became increasingly wild and hysterical, Scribe Harper burst into tears. Margot hugged the girl, in a passive, helpless way, but her gaze was drawn to the brutal scene before her. She wanted to look away, and yet she couldn't.

“What are we, Initiates?” Knight-Commander Elgin bellowed again.

“ _We are Steel!”_ the Initiates were reciting, raising their voices to be heard over the sound of the wind and Van Dien's screams. _“Loyal to our Elder! Obedient to the Codex! Faithful to our friends! Merciless to our foes!”_

 _Cruel to our own,_ Margot thought, as something treacherous twisted in her chest, _but Van Dien clearly failed in his duty of care. He would have been prosecuted for criminal negligence in the old world, and his acts and omissions can't go unpunished when they almost cost a man his life. Still... this isn't pretty. In spite of what happened, I can't help feeling a little sorry for him._

Scribe Harper's sobs were growing louder; Margot fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief and passed it to the girl, then looked uneasily at Danse.

“Take her inside,” Danse murmured, as if he'd read her mind. “She shouldn't have to see something like this. Neither should you.”

Margot was only too glad to agree. She tore her eyes away from the bloody spectacle and guided the sobbing Scribe back to the stairs. They had almost reached the door when they heard something hit the deck, and turned around. Van Dien had collapsed, whimpering with pain as he begged again for mercy; blood was pouring from the wounds in his back, and yet he was being hauled once again to his feet.

“Stop!” Scribe Harper shrieked suddenly. She turned and wrenched her arm free from Margot's grasp, then ran back down the stairs, her robes and overcoat billowing in the wind. “Elder Maxson – Arthur! Please, make it stop!”

Elder Maxson turned around, astonished, as she threw herself into his arms with a little wail of anguish and started to cry.

“Don't let them hurt him any more, Arthur!” she was sobbing. “Please! I know what he did was wrong, but back home in Lost Hills, they told me that Uncle Owyn and Cousin Sarah taught you how to show mercy, as well as might - if that's true, then have pity on him! Please! Look at him! Hasn't he been punished enough?”

Everyone was staring at her; even Lancer-Captain Kells had paused and turned to look. Elder Maxson looked around at the stunned faces around him, and the tear-filled eyes of his bride-to-be. Eventually, he sighed.

“The quality of mercy,” he said out loud, with a meaningful glance at Margot. “All right. That's enough, Kells. Have Aspirant Van Dien taken to the sick bay and then return him to his duties... such as they are.”

Lancer-Captain Kells looked almost relieved. He stepped aside and muttered orders to the Knights; they saluted, then released the bloodied, battered Van Dien and dragged him to his feet.

“Justice has been done,” said Elder Maxson loudly, folding his arms around Harper and drawing her closer. “But there is no justice without mercy! Let Scribe Harper's compassion and care for her brother be a lesson to us all! Follow your sister's example and never fail in your duty of care to your fellow man! Never forget that we draw our true strength from the courage of our convictions and the love of our brethren, and that is why we will ultimately prevail in the wastes. Together, we are strong! Together, we are Steel! _Ad victoriam!_ ”

“ _Ad victoriam,_ ” mumbled the crowd, with hurried salutes. As one, they marched away, although Ellens shot the cowering Van Dien a look of absolute contempt as she left.

“Thank you,” whispered Scribe Harper, into Elder Maxson's chest.

“Of course,” he replied, solemnly kissing the top of her head. “You're going to be my wife, after all. Husbands and wives need to know how to compromise from time to time, don't they?”

Scribe Harper smiled up at him.

“So they say.”

Elder Maxson patted her on the arm.

“Let's get you back inside,” he said, more kindly. “It's getting dark and I think it's starting to rain. Have you had dinner?”

“Not yet.”

“Then come and eat with me. I enjoy your company, and I'd like to hear more about Lost Hills. And the Citadel. It's been a while since I last saw the Capital Wasteland. Tell me all about what's been going on back home...”

Rain began to patter down onto the flight deck, blown into every sheltered part on gusts of biting wind. Margot and Danse stood by the _Hoplon_ and watched the flight deck grow steadily emptier as the last sliver of sun slipped below the horizon.

“Well, I'll be damned,” said Margot at last. “Little Scribe Harper finding her voice like that and talking Elder Maxson into showing mercy. I think she may turn out to be a force to be reckoned with.”

Danse looked askance at her.

“Have you been _talking_ to her again?”

Margot shook her head.

“Not this time. This was all her idea, I swear.”

“Very well. Did you still want to talk to Elder Maxson about the synth issue? And your husband's funeral arrangements?”

She did – desperately – but after everything she'd seen and heard since their return to the _Prydwen_ , she found herself too exhausted to summon up the will to face Elder Maxson again. The words she'd been quietly piecing together in her head just didn't seem to want to show their faces any more, and her resolve seemed to have deserted her entirely, replaced with a dull sort of weariness. She shook her head.

“Not now. I'm tired, Danse. I just want to go home.”

“Well, there's always next time,” Danse said, with a feeble attempt at jollity; privately, though, he agreed with her. The two days they'd spent on the _Prydwen_ had been too full of incident for his liking, and all he could think about was his house in Sanctuary Hills, and the prospect of being able to relax again, safe in the knowledge that his every move was no longer being closely monitored. “Come on, soldier. Let's grab our gear and head home.”

“You two need a ride?” Lancer-Sergeant Greer offered. “I can drop you off at Sanctuary if you want. Rain might wash some of the blood off and save me a little work.”

Margot and Danse looked at each other.

“Sounds good,” they said, almost in unison. “Thanks, Greer.”

*

Rain pelted the windows of the _Hoplon_ as it flew through the dark of night. The rainstorm was now in full swing, hurling everything it had at the Vertibird, but the aircraft plowed onward, defiant and resolute.

Margot and Danse sat in the back of the Vertibird's cabin, resting against each other for support. Their gear was piled around them, enfolding them in a little cocoon of steel and khaki and olive-drab. It reminded her oddly of the pillow-forts that she and Peggy had built when they were children, proclaiming themselves the queens of the castle and heaping up soft furnishings to fend off imaginary dragons.

“Almost home,” Danse murmured.

Margot nodded, rather drowsily. The warmth of the Vertibird and the drone of its rotors was lulling her to sleep; a sound reminiscent of a childhood spent in economy class seats, drifting off to sleep next to her mother and sister as they crossed time zones and date lines, comfortable in the knowledge that if her father was flying the plane, then everything would surely be all right.

 _My family_ , she thought, half-lost in dreams and memories. _Mom, Dad, Peggy. Nate and Shaun. They're all gone now. But I have Danse. As long as he's there, I'll be okay. We'll keep each other safe, no matter what happens._

She leaned against him more heavily, resting the weight of her head on his shoulder. If she listened closely, she could hear the sound of his breathing and the soft, dull thud of his pulse beneath her right ear. Accompanied by the patter of rain and the sound of the _Hoplon_ 's engines, it might have been a song meant to soothe her into slumber.

He was so warm, she thought, smiling a little to herself. She didn't want to move; not now, or ever. If she could have stayed here for the rest of her life, leaning comfortably against him and imagining all the sweet nothings he might have whispered to her if they'd been alone, it would have been a lifetime well spent.

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was being picked up and lifted out of the back of the Vertibird, into the dark and rainy night, while Preston cheerfully unloaded their duffle bags and gear and mentioned something about a surprise.

 _That's right,_ she thought, startled awake as Danse set her feet gently on the ground. _I spoke to Preston the night before we left. I can't believe I forgot..._

“Goodnight, Lancer-Sergeant Greer,” Danse called out, pressing his arm against his chest in a salute. “Fly safely, sister.”

“Always do, Danse,” Greer replied, with a little wave. _“Ad victoriam._ ”

The _Hoplon_ soared away in a roar of lights and rotor blades, and took its place in the clouds.

“Hope this rain lets up soon,” said Preston, with a regretful look up at the sky. “We were supposed to be planting more Razorgrain tomorrow. The ground'll turn to mush if this keeps up.”

“So what's this about a surprise?” Danse asked, as Preston led them along Sanctuary Hills' only street, to the cul-de-sac at the end. In the darkness blazed the neon lights of the clinic and the bar; the cool white glare of the streetlamps; the fairy lights entwined with the old tree's bare branches, twinkling like stars.

“There they are!” Shaun exclaimed jubilantly, from the front door of Danse's house. “Quick, Mr. Sturges, hit the lights!”

“All-righty, here goes...”

Sturges was standing next to a small generator near the path. He pulled the cord which started the motor; with a rumble which became a roar, the generator burst into life, and suddenly Danse's house was ablaze with light.

“Surprise!” roared the people of Sanctuary Hills, pouring out of the house, as Danse stood there in shock and Margot beamed from ear to ear. A homemade banner, fashioned from an old bedsheet, had been strung up across the front door; the untidy lettering read _“Welcome Home Danse!”_

“Congratulations!” said Jun Long, smiling feebly, while Marcy growled a similar platitude, as if she'd been forced to say the words at gunpoint.

“Uh, happy birthday,” added another settler. He flushed as the others turned to look at him in bewilderment, then hissed to one of the others: _“I thought you said it was his birthday! Now I look like an idiot!”_

“We fixed the place up for you while you were gone,” Sturges explained, in his usual warm, lazy drawl. “Hooked up the power, some running water – still working on the heat – and, uh, yeah, we picked up a few things for you too.”

“Yeah, the General said you were sleeping on the floor, and, well, I know how much that sucks,” Preston added. “Figured we should do something about that.”

Danse was still standing a few feet from the front door; he seemed confused, riddled with doubt and disbelief.

“This is for me?” he managed at last. “Really? But why?”

“I may have had a word with Preston about a housewarming party,” Margot hinted, with a smile. “And made a few suggestions about how we could spruce the place up a little for you while you and I were gone. After all, this is your home now. I thought we could help you settle in, you know? Make it _feel_ like home. Are you surprised?”

“Affirmative,” said Danse, stunned. “I – I'm sorry, nobody's ever done anything like this for me before. I don't really know what to say.”

Shaun grabbed Danse's hand.

“Come on, Mr. Danse, don't you want to see your new house? It looks really great! Everyone worked hard to get it looking nice. It looks almost as good as our house!”

“Well, I, uh – this is very unexpected,” Danse found himself stammering, as Shaun led him inside.

“Welcome home, sir!” Codsworth announced, as the other settlers milled aimlessly around the rooms, holding bottles of beer and Nuka-Cola and admiring their handiwork. “Good to have you and mum back again! Why, I was about to give you up for lost! You really ought to have sent a message home – Mr. Garvey and I were just about ready to organize a search party!”

“No need, Codsworth. We're home now,” said Margot brightly. “Right, Danse?”

Danse nodded as Shaun dragged him excitedly from room to room, pointing out fresh paint and new furniture – a couch, coffee table and bookcase; an old television set; a radio on the shelves; a kitchen table and chairs which looked very much like Margot's, if rather more weathered; a bed and dresser; pictures, ornaments and rugs, all intent on lending a little cheer to bare walls and floors.

“Thank you,” said Danse, looking around in wonderment at his surroundings. “This is – more than I could possibly have hoped for.”

“You're very welcome, sir! It was the least we could do!” said Codsworth jauntily. “Well, Master Shaun, let's get you back home. I'm afraid it's already past your bedtime!”

Shaun groaned.

“Aww! I wanted to stay up and show Mr. Danse his special surprise present!”

“Bed, Shaun,” said Margot firmly, leaning down to hug him. “Go on, darling. I'll be home soon to read to you, okay? Codsworth will tuck you in for me.”

“Okay,” said Shaun, with a small sigh. “Goodnight, Mr. Danse. I hope you like your new house, sir.”

“I do,” said Danse, nodding. “Very much. Thank you – all of you. I'm very grateful for your efforts in refurbishing this dwelling. Your hard work and generosity are greatly appreciated.”

“Goodnight!” called out the settlers, as they left the house, each one adding “Congratulations!”, “Welcome home!”, and in Marcy's case, an angrily-hissed _“I can't believe we stayed up this late just to watch that metal-booted dunderhead walk in like he owns the place!”_.

"Well, he kind of does, Marcy..." Jun Long mumbled to his wife, as they left.

Soon Margot and Danse stood alone in the hallway. The radio was playing softly in the background. They both caught the slow, wistful strains of Bob Crosby's “Happy Times”, and smiled at each other.

“Shaun mentioned something about a special surprise present?” Danse said finally.

Margot beamed with pride.

“Consider this the de Havilland family's contribution to your fancy new digs,” she said. She took his hand and led him to the end of the hallway, past the spot where they'd made shy, terrified declarations of love and exchanged the kiss which had stopped time in its tracks. “This isn't a housewarming gift, though. This is more of a _“welcome back to the Brotherhood of Steel”_ present. Shaun and I came up with the idea. Hope you like it.”

She led him into the back room, which had once been a spare bedroom, long ago. Danse's jaw dropped when he saw what was inside.

“I – soldier – Margot, really? For me?”

Margot's proud grin threatened to take over the rest of her face.

“Yep. Do you like it?”

Danse stared at the Power Armor station, which contained his X-01 suit – now complete with a helmet. He wondered where on earth she'd found one. Beside the display was a workbench and a fully-stocked toolbox; on the wall hung the rust-orange Brotherhood of Steel flag, its winged-sword-and-cogs emblem painted on the fabric in white.

“I love it,” he said decisively. He turned to look at her. “But you know what I love even more?”

Margot merely raised her eyebrows in response.

“You,” Danse told her. “I love you, Margot. Thank you for everything you've done for me.”

He leaned forward to kiss her, but she was already raising her lips gently to his. They touched together in a soft, appreciative hum, then drew each other into a warm, close embrace.

 _Home,_ thought Danse happily, even as he kissed her. _I'm finally home._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flogging scene is a reference to one of my favorite action movies, "Starship Troopers" - Knight Nicholas Van Dien was originally going to be named after the main character, Johnny Rico, who suffers a similar punishment after his negligence during a training exercise causes the death of a teammate. However, we find out in-game that there was already a Rico in the Brotherhood (he was a friend of Proctor Teagan), and so I named him in honor of Casper Van Dien (Johnny Rico's actor) instead.
> 
> I figured I'd lighten things up a little with some interaction with Team X-Ray, because those guys are so much fun to write about. O.G. got her name from Old Glory (after the Stars-and-Stripes bandana she wears), but it's also a common abbreviation for "original gangster", which quietly amuses me because I always listen to the GTA V "West Coast Classics" playlist whenever I'm writing for Team X-Ray. (Paladin Rex is a West Coast boy - he was born in Lost Hills and brought to the East Coast as a child with Elder Lyons' team. I like to think that he and little Sarah Lyons used to be playmates, at least at first, and that Team X-Ray became the Lyons Pride's successors in title and general badassery after Sarah's death.)


	18. The Nearness of You

Sun streamed in through the open door of the armory as Margot laid a drop sheet on the rough wooden floorboards.

“Okay,” she called out. “Bring her out, Danse! Set her down right over here and we'll get to work!”

She looked up, smiling, as he strode over in his Brotherhood Power Armor. At long last, he was back where he should always have been, clad in the familiar metal suit which had accompanied her through ArcJet, the Glowing Sea, and countless other hells.

“Feels good to be back in my old Power Armor,” Danse remarked. He came to a stop at the center of the drop sheet and pulled the manual release, ejecting himself from the suit of armor. “If only on a temporary basis.”

“We'll have you back in it again soon,” Margot promised him. She laid out tools on the sheet next to the suit; two wire brushes, two different kinds of primer, a blowtorch, cans of paint, paintbrushes, several dishrags, and some stencils. “But first, let's get you all set up. Wanna give me a hand with this?”

“Of course.”

He knelt beside her on the floorboards and stole a look at her as she crouched down to grab a dust mask from the floor. She was gorgeous, he thought, letting his eyes travel from her feet to her face, admiring the curves beneath the electric-blue and red mechanic's suit along the way. Her hair was tied up in a red bandana to keep it out of her face while she worked, and there was already a smear of grease on one cheek; although she would probably have joked that she hardly looked her best if he were to remark on her good looks, he thought she was still the loveliest thing he'd ever seen.

“Safety first,” she said, pulling the mask over her nose and mouth, then donning some welding goggles. “Come on, let's strip this old paint off and get started.”

“Roger that.”

Danse pulled on the other mask, wiped his hands on the knees of the dull green fabric of his own mechanic's suit, and picked up one of the wire brushes. Together, they set to work on the Power Armor's paint, scraping away the old paint and watching the reddish-brown flakes fall to the floor like dry autumn leaves.

“Ugh,” Margot complained. “Look at all that crap. When did you last repaint this thing?”

“It's been a while,” Danse admitted, as he wiped away the dust particles with a damp dishrag. “It was scheduled for a complete repaint at the end of February, but after everything that happened... well, I guess I never got around to it.”

Margot's eyes grew soft and sad behind the tinted goggles. The last day of February and the first day of March were the days she'd spent trying to save Danse from Elder Maxson - and himself. He'd left his beloved suit behind on the _Prydwen_ and it had been up to her to bring it home after his banishment. She'd been its custodian more than she'd ever been its owner, and yet he hadn't dared to ask if he could lay hands on his old suit, even to help maintain it. Sometimes protocol bound him so tightly that she wondered if he was in danger of being slowly strangled by all those rules and regulations.

“I'm sorry, Danse,” she said, her voice slightly muffled through the mask. “I should have taken better care of it while you were gone. Given it a fresh coat of paint and everything. It's just that I... I didn't want to touch it. It was yours, you know? It didn't feel right to mess with it without asking.”

Danse smiled behind the dust mask.

“I appreciate your courtesy. It wasn't necessary, but... thank you all the same. It was kind of you to return it to me after Elder Maxson gifted it to you.”

“It was never mine to keep,” said Margot. She stooped down to remove the painted Paladin markings from the left gauntlet, and lowered her eyes to the painted surface. “But I guess that doesn't matter any more. It's back where it belongs, just like you.”

“Here in Sanctuary Hills,” Danse observed. “Home, sweet home.”

This time it was Margot's turn to smile. She picked up a scrap of sandpaper from the floor and started to scrub away at a patch of stubborn paint on the armor's greaves.

“So how was your first night in your new, improved house?” she said out loud.

“Very pleasant, thank you,” Danse replied. “The bed's a little more comfortable than I'm used to, although I certainly can't complain about that. But you really didn't have to send Codsworth over just to make me breakfast.”

“Actually, that was his idea,” Margot said, with a little grin. “I think he likes you.”

Danse dropped the wire brush in surprise.

“He does?”

Margot giggled, and handed the brush back to him.

“Yes, he does! He's always singing your praises. In fact, he was the one who persuaded me to go after you after you kissed me on the cheek and then ran off.”

Danse's face flushed at the recollection.

“In that case, I owe him quite a debt,” he mumbled. “You looked so shocked that I thought I'd overstepped the bounds of acceptable conduct, and... well, I'm ashamed to say it, but I panicked. I couldn't bear the thought that you might be angry with me. Or that I might have upset you by my actions.”

Margot straightened up to resume her work, turning her attention to the faded Brotherhood of Steel insignia on the breastplate.

“Don't be silly, Danse,” she said. “Of course I wasn't upset. It was just unexpected, that's all.”

Danse looked relieved, and started to scrub against the last of the paint.

“As long as it wasn't unwelcome.”

“Of course not,” said Margot affectionately. “I was kind of hoping you were going to kiss me one of these days. Especially after that time on the bridge. If it hadn't been for Preston showing up when he did - ”

“And on the _Prydwen_. Just when we thought it was safe.”

They both laughed.

“I'm sorry I ran away from you, Margot,” said Danse at last. “Thank you for coming after me. I'm glad you did.”

He saw her grin behind the mask, and felt his heart flutter as he saw the way her nose crinkled at the bridge. It was odd, the little things which made his pulse race in her presence. The mischievous giggles; the way she hummed softly as she worked; the way she clapped her hands together and bounced on her heels when she found a new weapon, or a new suit to add to her Power Armor collection; the gleeful one-liners as she bagged a Raider with a single headshot and methodically stripped them of valuables – Vries and Rouche would have been proud – and even the way she tenderly wrapped up the vases she found in the field in old newspaper, so that she could bring those little pieces of the old world safely home and place them with pride on a shelf. Little things, so small that they might have seemed inconsequential, were it not for the fact that they made up such an essential part of the woman he loved.

“Same here,” said Margot gently. “Okay, I think we're about done stripping the paint. Help me wipe her down?”

They each picked up a damp dishrag and started wiping down the bare steel of the Power Armor to remove the smears of dust and paint particles.

“A little rust here on the pauldrons and the rerebrace,” Danse noted, frowning as he scraped away some light reddish-orange stains from the plating which covered the shoulders and upper arms of the Power Armor.

“Okay, so we apply the zinc-chromate primer first, then the regular stuff. Right?”

Margot looked up at him for approval and saw him nod.

“Well done. You remembered.”

“Hey, what can I say?” she said lightly, reaching for one of the spray cans. “You're a good teacher. I was lucky to have you as a mentor.”

“And now you get to reciprocate, soldier,” said Danse, with another little nod. “I've learned a few things from you too, you know.”

He watched her eyebrows raise as she shook the spray can.

“Like what?”

“The quality of mercy,” said Danse, as she started spraying the first layer of primer onto the metal. “The value of life, be it human or synth. Interesting things about Pre-War history and law. How baseball works. And how to make one hell of a meal out of Deathclaw steak.”

Margot laughed.

“And to think I used to worry about impressing the other moms at the PTA. My Deathclaw rump steak beats the ever-loving _shit_ out of their pansy-ass cupcakes. Take that, bitches!”

Her laughter was followed by a sudden, sad sigh.

“If only the PTA was still the biggest thing I had to worry about out here. I was so worried about impressing people back then, Danse. Nate's parents, the partners at my law firm, the other moms at Shaun's daycare center... everything had to be perfect. It seems so stupid now. Freaking out about whether the house was clean enough; whether I'd be able to get back into my business suit after I lost the baby weight; whether the souffles would rise in time for dinner parties. Who the hell cares? It's all gone.”

She let out a bitter _ha_ of laughter as she finished the first coat of primer.

“It's all gone,” she repeated, sitting down heavily on the floor. She pulled the goggles and mask from her face and stared at them with a strangely blank expression. “All of it. No more husband and family. No more fancy new Chryslus. No more dinner parties or court dates. No more weekends at the farmstead with the in-laws. No more baseball games or vacations on the beach. No more ice-cream sundaes, nights at the drive-in, dancing with Nate... it's all gone, Danse...”

Danse knelt beside her and touched her on the shoulder as her voice started to shake.

“No more war,” he told her. “No more bombs. No more _fear._ I know how much you've lost, Margot, but think of all the things in your life which you didn't have before the Great War. You have the Minutemen, and the Brotherhood of Steel. Your friends here in the Commonwealth. The finest collection of weapons and armor I've _ever_ seen. And you have me, for what that's worth.”

She looked up at him and suddenly he was reminded of the night sky; her eyes were as wide and dark as the infinity of space, and if it was true that the heavens looked down with pity on the people of this world, then the glittering of a thousand sorrowful stars was reflected in their depths. Pained by the glimpse of her grief, he leaned over and put his arm around her.

“Hey - cheer up, soldier,” he said, patting her on the back in an attempt to console her. “Maybe there's no more ice-cream in the Commonwealth and the citizens of Diamond City think baseball bats are offensive weapons, but we can still go to the drive-in together. _Grognak the Barbarian_ , right? Or would you rather hold out for _Those!_ instead?”

“Shit, that reminds me,” said Margot, suddenly thoughtful, as if all she'd needed to distract her from her loss was a bright idea. “I'll have to ask Codsworth to make us some popcorn for tonight. We've got some cooking oil, and Brahmin butter, and a little salt, and I had him dry out some corn kernels after the last time we went to the movies. Might not be the same as the stuff from the old days, but I think we can make it work.”

“Well, you seem to have a knack for making the impossible possible,” said Danse encouragingly. “And even if your efforts aren't successful, then we'll still be able to spend the evening together. That's a positive outcome in my book.”

She started to smile again.

“Thanks, Danse. Maybe there won't be any more dinner parties with the neighbors – there is no way in hell I'm ever having dinner with Marcy Long - but if I can still go to the drive-in and make out with the cutest guy in the Commonwealth, then I guess life isn't so bad.”

Danse's brow creased.

“Make out?”

Margot rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on, Danse. You _must_ know what making out is. You've been in the military for... how many years now?”

“Sixteen years,” said Danse, rather defensively, although he was blushing a little. “And I'm perfectly aware of what _making out_ is. It's just that – well, I'm surprised you asked. Nobody's ever invited me to participate in that kind of activity before.”

Margot giggled.

“Then you're in for a real treat. Just try not to choke on your popcorn if we make it to second base, okay?”

Danse looked at her, perplexed.

“Now you've lost me, soldier. I don't understand what baseball has to do with anything... you are talking about baseball, right?”

Margot burst out laughing.

“Oh, Danse, you're such a sweetheart... don't you ever change.”

She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, then pulled off her work gloves and picked herself up from the floor.

“Come on, let's head back into the house and wait for the primer to dry,” she said, as he got up. “I don't know about you, but I could use a drink. Care to join me? I think we've got some Nuka-Cola in the fridge...”

Danse removed the dust mask from his face and set it at the feet of the Power Armor, then followed her outside into the morning's brilliant sunshine, still pondering what she might have meant by the reference to the game of baseball. Fresh air replaced the paint fumes and metallic overtones of the workshop, and he breathed it in gratefully.

The peace of Sanctuary Hills was broken by a sudden blare of jazz music from Margot's house. There was a muffled curse word, and then the volume dipped by half. The front door opened and Shaun came running out into the yard to meet them.

“Mom! We did it!” he cried ecstatically. He grabbed his surprised mother's hand and ran for the open door. “We got the holotape player working! Me and Mr. Sturges! Come and see!”

He dragged Margot behind him, into the cool shade of the house. Sturges was kneeling on the floor, surrounded by tools, but he got up when he saw Margot and gave her a jaunty, irreverent little salute.

“Hey, General,” he said. “Your boy did pretty good. Got this old stereo working almost all by himself. Ain't quite what she used to be, but I did my best with the wood paneling... tried to patch it up a little, sand some stuff down, wipe the dirt off. The usual. This little guy, though - ”

He leaned over to ruffle Shaun's hair; Shaun laughed, and ducked away.

“He's one heck of a mechanic,” Sturges finished. “I think one of these days he'll be just as good at keeping Sanctuary running as yours truly. Oh, and I took a look at your fridge too, like you wanted.”

Margot brightened.

“You did? What was wrong with it?”

Sturges shrugged nonchalantly.

“Looks like the EMP blast from the bombs shorted out the electronics pretty good, but I did a little tinkering back there, replaced a bunch of wires and fuses, and... ehh, see for yourself.”

Margot ran over to the fridge and opened the door. She gasped when the little lightbulb inside came on, and when she stuck her head into the appliance to investigate, she started to laugh.

“Hey, Danse!” she called, still laughing.

Danse approached.

“What?”

“Check this out!”

She grabbed his hand and pulled it into the fridge, holding it still. Danse looked astounded, and he retracted his arm with a little shiver.

“It's... cold,” he said, amazed. “Does that mean it's able to refrigerate perishable goods again?”

“Yeah, that's exactly what that means,” said Sturges, with a roll of his eyes. “What, you mean you Brotherhood boys have fancy Power Armor and nothing to keep your beer cold? Jeez, when it comes to technology, you guys really need to get your priorities straight...”

“Hey, Mr. Danse? Is your refrigerator running?” Shaun piped up.

Danse shook his head.

“No, Shaun. I'm afraid the refrigerator in my house is still non-functional.”

Shaun groaned.

“Aww! It was a joke! You were supposed to say yes! And I was supposed to say _“Well then, you'd better go catch it!”_. Haven't you ever heard that one before?”

“Hey, Shaun, he's from the Brotherhood, remember? Those guys ain't exactly known for their sense of humor,” said Sturges, as he stooped to pack away the tools in the bright red toolbox which accompanied him everywhere.

Danse raised an eyebrow.

“Clearly you've never heard the one about the rabbi, the Ghoul and the Super Mutant,” he said calmly.

He saw Margot's warning glance, and added quickly:

“I'd elaborate, but I'm afraid it isn't suitable for young ears.”

“Huh. Well, I guess you'll have to tell me that one some other time,” said Sturges, who looked slightly more impressed, if a little taken aback. “But, uh, not right now. Got stuff to do. Preston says the water purifier's sucking up gravel from the riverbed again. I'd better take a look, or everyone'll be spitting up rocks for weeks.”

“Thanks for your time, Sturges,” said Margot, smiling warmly.

Sturges grinned.

“No problem, ma'am. Tell Shaun he's welcome to help out any time. Heck, I could use an apprentice. Hey, Shaun, you did good, buddy! Put it here!”

Shaun gave Sturges an enthusiastic high-five.

“There we go!” Sturges said, laughing. “All right, I'm heading out. Enjoy the sweet sound of, uh...”

He picked up one of the holotape cases in the top of the cabinet, turned it over, and commented:

“Glenn Miller? Huh, never heard of him. Then again, I'm more of a rock-and-roll kinda guy. Well, whatever. See you later, General. Let me know if that fridge craps out on you again, okay?”

With a wave and some tuneless whistling, he headed out through the door, leaving Margot, Danse and Shaun standing in the living room.

“Splendid work, Master Shaun!” Codsworth said, as he drifted past. His metallic voice was full of praise. “Why, you and Mr. Sturges have done a superb job of restoring that old holotape player! Almost looks like new – isn't that right, mum?”

Margot nodded. Sturges had given the impression that he hadn't done much work on the cabinetry, but she knew better; the splintered, broken panels had been replaced with fresher ones salvaged from who only knew where, and the wood gleamed almost like new. Music was emanating softly from the stereo's inner workings.

“You know, Shaun, Glenn Miller was your dad's favorite,” she said out loud. “What do you say? Wanna turn it up a little?”

Shaun's face lit up.

“Yeah!”

“Well I must say, this is wonderful!” Codsworth said, sounding delighted, while Shaun threw himself to the floor and started to meddle with the buttons on the console. “Just like the good old days!”

No device could resist young Shaun's deft ministrations, and a moment later, a fresh song started up; an upbeat instrumental number. He turned up the volume control and started to dance.

“I like this one!” he cried. “What's it called?”

“In The Mood,” Margot told him. She nudged aside the coffee table and pushed back the couch. “And you know what, I think I'm in the mood for dancing. How about you, kiddo?”

She picked him up by the waist and whirled him around, laughing, as the music played. The lively sound of trumpets, trombones and clarinets followed them around the room as they spun in ever-increasing circles. Danse smiled sheepishly from the sidelines as he watched them dance; Margot was laughing, her bandana knocked askew and her pinned-up hair starting to come loose.

“Codsworth! Come on, join us!” Shaun called out, but the robot let out a hearty chuckle.

“Oh, dancing isn't for the likes of me, Master Shaun,” said Codsworth primly. “My movement algorithms were calibrated quite precisely by General Atomics, of course, but I'm afraid I simply wasn't _designed_ for things like dancing. The last time I attempted it – at your father's behest, I might add - I almost knocked over a vase. Fortunately I was able to catch it in time, or I fear your mother would have been really rather cross with me.”

“How about you, Mr. Danse? You can dance, right?” Shaun said, a little breathlessly, as he tried to keep up with his mother's lead.

Danse smiled shyly.

“Not very well, I'm afraid. It's been a long time since anyone asked me to dance with them.”

Margot put Shaun carefully on the floor and kissed him on the top of his head, then went over to Danse and extended her hand.

“Then I think it's about time you brushed up on your dance moves,” she said, with sparkling eyes. “After all, there's going to be a big wedding soon, and I'm sure there'll be dancing afterward... it would be a shame if you were so out of practice that you couldn't join in the festivities. Elder Maxson might take your lack of participation as some sort of snub. You wouldn't want to offend our Elder or his new bride by refusing to dance at their wedding, would you?”

“Well, I, uh - ”

“Quite right, mum!” Codsworth cut him off. “It wouldn't do to let the side down on Elder Maxson's big day! Go on, sir – best foot forward!”

Danse's feeble objections went unheard as Margot took him by the hand and dragged him to the center of the room. Shaun had broken into a lively jig of his own invention; he already looked happy, but he beamed when he saw Danse come over to join them.

“Hey, I guess I was wrong!” he cried. “You move pretty good after all, Mr. Danse!”

“Uh, thank you,” Danse said, rather self-consciously, as Margot twirled her way into his arms, as if she were wearing a sparkling ballgown and heels instead of a grease-streaked mechanic's suit and boots. “Not nearly as good as your mother, I'm afraid.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Margot murmured in his ear. “Come on, Danse. Dance with me.”

“If you insist, soldier...”

She attempted to take the lead, but he promptly took over, with one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder.

“No, Paladin,” he corrected her. “I think it's supposed to go like this...”

And suddenly it all came rushing back to him; a late-night party at the Weatherly Hotel on the Fourth of July, when Cutler had encouraged him to dance with the proprietor, an attractive blonde woman. She'd turned out to be an experienced dancer, and she'd been kind enough to teach the shy, red-faced teenager a few moves while one of the other men looked on enviously from the edge of the dance floor.

 _Holmes_ , he remembered, trying not to step on Margot's toes as they twirled and swayed in time with the music. _Seagrave Holmes. I remember selling him our junk stand when Cutler and I enlisted with the Brotherhood of Steel. Now that I look back on it, we should probably have held out for a higher offer, but we were young and impatient, and destiny was calling... and now here I am, dancing with beautiful Paladin de Havilland. We're even going on a date tonight. Maybe throwing caution to the wind wasn't such a bad idea after all..._

Giddy with exhilaration, he started to laugh. After an extended absence, the footwork was finally starting to come back to him, and there was something in the way Margot was smiling at him that made him feel as if he were on top of the world.

“Hey, you're not bad at this!” Margot remarked, as he picked her up by the waist and swung her round, then brought her back into his arms.

“Thank you,” said Danse, with a faintly embarrassed grin. “I have to admit, this is rather more fun than I remembered. Maybe I shouldn't have sat out all those Brotherhood social events after all...”

The song came to a crescendo, and then a close. As Margot and Danse leaned against each other, smiling at the looks on each other's faces, Shaun sighed happily and sat down on the ottoman.

“Whew! Oh, man! That was fun! Thanks for dancing with us, Mr. Danse... hey, Mom? I think I'm all danced-out now. I could use a break. Can I go help Mr. Sturges with the water purifier?”

“Sure, honey. I think he'd like that. Be careful near the water, though,” Margot warned him. “Don't go too near the edge - and don't fall in, or you might need a dose of Rad-Away.”

“Don't worry, Mom, I can swim!” Shaun reminded her, a little impatiently. He was already scrambling to his feet, ready to go once again.

“I'm more worried about you glowing in the dark,” Margot quipped. “Go on, scoot. And do what Mr. Sturges tells you, okay? If he says it's too dangerous to play with wiring or moving parts, leave it to him.”

“I will. Can I take Dogmeat too?”

“Yeah, sure. He's out in the back yard. Make sure he doesn't try jumping in the river again.”

“Thanks, Mom!”

Margot's smile followed him out of the room, but she returned her attention to Danse as the next song started to play.

“Now, this next one's my favorite,” she commented, as the tempo slowed slightly and they started to dance again. “You remember the pearl necklace Nate got me?”

“The one he bought for you when your son was born?” said Danse, with a brief glance down at her neck; he noted that the pearls were absent from her throat, although he could hardly blame her for setting aside their fragile beauty when there was manual labor to be done.

“The very same,” said Margot, smiling up at him. “Well, Nate knew it was my favorite song, so right after I gave birth to Shaun, he decided to surprise me with the pearls. Kind of a little joke present. He came into the maternity ward at the hospital with this little box and a big grin on his face, and he said _“Nora, I know how much you love that song of yours, so here you are – a string of pearls of your very own! Now you don't just get to hear your favorite song, you get to wear it, too!”_... the big goofball. Cutest thing he ever did for me.”

“A string of pearls?” repeated Danse.

“Yeah, that's the name of the song. “A String of Pearls”. Hence the joke.”

Danse smiled politely.

“I'm afraid I wouldn't know. They never played this one in the Capital Wasteland.”

Margot grinned.

“First-timer, huh? What's the verdict?”

“I can see why you like it,” Danse replied. “There's definitely a certain something to this Pre-War music.”

But as he looked down into her eyes, he wasn't entirely sure that it was just the music at work, unless Pre-War musical instruments had had the power to make men fall helplessly in love with a few well-chosen chords. She was glowing, beautiful; bright-eyed with love and enthusiasm, so radiant in her loveliness that his heart quivered in his chest.

“No pearls today, mum?” Codsworth called out from across the room.

“Not today,” Margot called back. “Didn't want to mess them up with all that paint and primer floating around in the air. Or break them if they got caught on something.”

Codsworth sounded aghast at the prospect.

“Oh – no, we definitely wouldn't want that to happen, mum! Not after Knight-Captain Danse went to all that trouble to bring them safely home for you.”

“No indeed,” said Margot, flashing a smile at Danse. “I thought I'd save them for a special occasion instead. Which reminds me - are you going to be okay to look after Shaun tonight, Codsworth? Or shall I ask Sturges if he can babysit for a change?”

“Oh no, don't bother Mr. Sturges, mum,” Codsworth said briskly. “I'll man the fort while you're gone! And I think I promised you some popcorn – I really ought to see about preparing some, as a matter of fact... I think a little test run might be in order for the new recipe!”

As Codsworth floated away in the direction of the kitchen, Margot sighed contentedly and leaned against Danse's shoulder as their sedate dance steps continued. With his face covered in dirt, dust and oil, her knight in shining armor looked more like a scruffy Pre-War mechanic fresh out of the auto shop, but she didn't care. She breathed in the smell of paint and Power Armor which clung to the fabric beneath her cheek, and let out her breath in another slow, happy sigh.

“This is nice,” she said out loud. “It's been so long since I danced with someone.”

“Likewise,” she heard him reply. “I don't think I've danced with anyone since I enlisted.”

Margot glanced up.

“Shaun wasn't kidding, you know. You're pretty good at this. Have you always known how to do this, or did someone teach you?”

Danse smiled, rather bashfully.

“I'm afraid I had to learn the old-fashioned way. If the Institute had programmed me with the knowledge, I suspect I'd be rather better at it than this,” he told her, then added, with a little grin: “I'd probably remember the damn steps, too. For once, I'm afraid I can't blame my clumsiness on the Power Armor.”

Margot laughed softly as Danse turned her around, and then brought her back to face him again.

“So where _did_ you learn to dance?” she said curiously.

“Rivet City,” answered Danse. “A young lady named Vera Weatherly ran the hotel there. After a rather clumsy first attempt at dancing with her, she was kind enough to give me a few lessons.”

“Should I be jealous?” Margot said flirtatiously.

Danse just smiled, and put his arms around her waist.

“No. Of course not. She was older than me, and although Cutler did his best to try and set us up, she wasn't really my type. I doubt I was hers either. I didn't exactly have a lot to offer anyone at that stage in my life. I was a teenage junk merchant, not some sort of suave, sophisticated adventurer.”

“Now that's one hell of a confessional memoir title. _I Was A Teenage Junk Merchant!”_ Margot giggled. “It sounds almost suggestive when you say it that way...”

“I'm starting to see why you and MacCready get along so well,” Danse said, with a hint of amused disapproval.

“Not as well as you and I,” she reminded him, and saw him smile again at that. “Don't worry, Danse. I don't intend to go for long walks on the beach with anyone but my favorite Paladin.”

“You know I'm not - ” he began, but she cut him off, pressing her finger to his lips.

“I don't care what the rank on your Power Armor says,” she said softly. “You're still my Paladin.”

She pulled him into a hug as the song ended, and stayed there in his arms, surrounded by his warmth, his scent, and the quiet sound of his breathing.

“My Paladin Danse,” she whispered.

The next song began to play, even as the notes of the previous tune died away softly; it was slower again than its predecessor, with a dreamy, romantic vibe. Margot let out a long, gentle sigh at the sound of the opening bars.

“Uh-oh,” she said, with a smile starting to play on her lips. “You know what this one is, Danse? “Moonlight Serenade”. The most romantic song in the world. I don't think we're allowed to stop dancing once this comes on.”

Danse raised his eyebrows.

“Really now? Well then, soldier, I'm afraid we'll have to continue.”

In one gentle but very insistent movement, he pulled Margot even closer, wrapping his arms around her as they swayed together in a slow, hypnotic waltz. All around them, time seemed to slow to a crawl; dust hung in the air, glittering around them in the rays of sunshine like captured specks of starlight.

 _So handsome_ , Margot thought, as the sunlight transformed the color of his eyes; they became a lighter shade of brown, flecked with warm amber and gold. His expression was calm, gentle; full of the quiet kind of love and happiness that she'd once seen whenever Nate had looked at her.

She reached up to caress Danse's face and found her fingers brushing against the soft bristles of his beard, then moving to trace the outline of his upper lip.

“I love you, Danse,” she said, as loud as she dared.

She felt the falling waves of her hair being brushed aside, and then his fingers pressed tenderly against her cheek, the light touch bringing warmth and a faint flush to her skin. Each step seemed to bring him a little closer to her, until their faces were so close that she could feel his breath against her lips.

“Margot,” he murmured. “I love you too.”

“Kiss me,” she whispered in response.

Danse needed no further encouragement. He leaned forward to close the last inch of distance between them and Margot felt a little jolt of electricity as his lips brushed against hers; a sweet, familiar ache which became a breathless yearning, then an insatiable hunger for more. She threw her arms around his neck, pressing his face closer to her own as his hands came to rest against her back. Codsworth was still clattering about in the kitchen behind them, picking up pots and pans and gathering up ingredients, but it was as if the sounds didn't even exist; the space encircled by their arms was the whole world, and they were the only ones in it, both so utterly lost in their kiss that their feet came to a halt and even the music seemed to fade into the distance.

A sudden yelp from the front door shook them out of their reverie.

“Eww! Gross!”

Margot and Danse broke apart with shocked gasps and turned to see Shaun standing in the doorway. He looked faintly appalled by what he'd just seen; and then, unexpectedly, he started to giggle.

“Hey, Dogmeat, guess what?” he exclaimed, turning to the dog waiting behind him. “They were _kissing!_ Mom and Mr. Danse were totally kissing! I _knew_ it! Mom loves Mr. Danse!”

Margot's mouth opened in horror, but Shaun took off, still giggling, before she could think to grab hold of him and drag him back into the house. She gave Danse a desperate, pleading look; even without words, he understood instantly.

_Danse, we can't let him tell anyone! If the Brotherhood finds out, we're dead!_

“I'll get him,” he muttered, and ran from the house.

Mortified and blushing, Danse sprinted down the street, ignoring the strange looks from the other settlers as he hurtled past front yards with tidy rows of Tato plants and Mutfruit trees, picket fences and battered mailboxes. Shaun was a few yards ahead, laughing as he ran, Dogmeat following loyally at his side.

“Hey - Mr. Garvey!” he was yelling down the street. “Mr. Garvey!”

Preston was tending to a small vegetable patch in front of the Minutemen barracks; melons were ripening on the vines around him, still damp and glistening from the morning's watering. He was planting a row of Razorgrain seeds at the far end of the plot, humming a tune which Danse recognized from Diamond City Radio – a Bing Crosby number, something about accentuating the positive. He looked up as Shaun and Dogmeat came running up to him.

“Hey there, Shaun,” he said. He looked puzzled. “I thought you were helping Sturges fix the water purifier? Don't tell me you guys are done already?”

“No, I forgot my favorite screwdriver! I had to go back to the house and get it, but – hey, Mr. Garvey, you'll never guess what I just saw!” Shaun said, with a mischievous grin sneaking across his face. “I saw Mom and Mr. Danse, and you know what they were doing? They were – _mm-mmf!_ ”

With a brisk motion, Danse clapped a hand over Shaun's mouth and picked him up with the other arm, slinging him roughly over his shoulder and carrying him away.

“I think your mother would like a word with you, Shaun,” he told the boy gruffly, as Shaun objected and tried to wriggle free of his grasp. “She instructed me to return you to the house. I expect you to comply with her wishes and cooperate in this matter.”

The little synth complied; his struggles ceased at once, although Danse heard him grumble something next to his ear:

“I'm not a baby, you know! I can walk back to the house all by myself!”

“Acknowledged, soldier,” Danse conceded. “Down you go. Now return to base immediately.”

He set the boy down on the ground and followed him back to Margot's house, while Dogmeat broke into a light trot behind them.

Shaun wasn't a baby, Danse reflected. That was true. But he never had been, either. The baby who had once been Shaun had lived and died within the cold, clinical confines of the Institute's walls, deep underground. This Shaun – he wasn't a replacement for Margot's child, any more than he, Danse, could ever replace Margot's husband in her affections. Ultimately, though, it didn't matter, he reminded himself, shaking his head and taking a deep breath of air as he walked up the path to the front door. Margot didn't care how they'd come to be, or why. She loved them both anyway, with a fierce intensity that made her eyes shine like beacons in the night, and as far as he was concerned, that bright, burning light was the only thing in the world that truly mattered.

Danse walked in through the front door to see Codsworth putting back the furniture. The robot was fussing over the exact position of the coffee table as he tried to replace it in its original location, nudging it this way and that in order to align it exactly with the placement of the rug beneath it.

“Codsworth, it's fine where it is. Leave it there,” Margot was sighing. She was sitting in the armchair in the corner, with her hands resting neatly in her lap and her feet pressed together on the floor.

“Very good, mum,” Codsworth replied. “Would you like me to take the pup out for a walk?”

Danse followed her glance over to the door. Dogmeat was still sitting on the doorstep, making eager little panting noises.

“Yes, please,” said Margot, with a glance over at Shaun. “I'd like to talk to Shaun for a moment.”

“In that case, I'll take the long way around the neighborhood,” Codsworth said cheerfully. “Back in a few, mum! Come on, Dogmeat, let's go for a little stroll!”

Dogmeat let out a little bark, jumped to his feet, and trotted after Codsworth. Codsworth closed the door carefully behind them, and the house grew quiet again. The holotape player had fallen silent; it had reached the end of the tape and now emitted only a faint electronic hiss, barely audible over the ringing sound of silence.

“Perhaps it would be best if I were to leave,” Danse spoke up awkwardly, from beside the door. “If you want, I could check on that Power Armor. I expect the first layer of primer has dried by now. I can apply the next coat while you and Shaun are occupied here.”

Margot looked up gratefully.

“Would you? Thank you, Danse. I'll check in on you when Shaun and I are done talking.”

With a look of silent and profound relief, Danse left, closing the door with even more care than Codsworth had. Margot glanced out of the window and saw him cross the street to the armory, then returned her attention to Shaun.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said softly. “Why don't you come over here and sit with me for a second? There's something I want to talk to you about...”

Shaun obeyed immediately, without a word. He went over to the ottoman and sat down, facing her. He looked troubled, and slightly sad.

“Sweetheart, I hope you weren't upset about what happened just now,” Margot began, reaching out to take his hand. “Danse and I didn't mean to surprise you like that. We certainly didn't intend for you to walk in the house and see us... well, I know it must have been a shock. I'm sorry.”

Shaun's face cleared, and he shook his head.

“Mom, it's okay. I like Mr. Danse. I don't mind if you kiss him – I mean, it's pretty gross, but you can if you want. I know people like to kiss when they're in love. You guys are in love, right?”

It was a relief to be able to respond in the affirmative to that question, thought Margot, even as she nodded her head.

“Yes, darling. Danse and I love each other very much. But please don't tell anybody, okay?”

Shaun frowned.

“I thought you said it was wrong for grown-ups to ask kids to keep secrets for them. Remember? When you and Mr. Garvey were telling me about stranger danger? Mr. Garvey said it was bad and that I should stay away from grown-ups who want me to keep secrets, in case they try to hurt me.”

“And he was quite right,” Margot said emphatically. “That was a very important lesson about safety, and I'm glad you remember what we told you. However, I would really appreciate it if you didn't go around telling everybody that Danse and I love each other. Or that we were kissing.”

Shaun looked perplexed.

“Why? You guys weren't doing anything bad, were you?”

Margot smiled and shook her head.

“No, honey. There's nothing wrong with caring about somebody, or even being in love with them. Love is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“So it's okay that you and Mr. Danse are in love?” said Shaun, wide-eyed.

“Yes.”

The brown eyes which reminded her so much of Nate took on a plaintive, puzzled look.

“Then why don't you want me to tell anybody?”

“Because it's private, honey,” Margot told him gently. “What we say and do at home, in private, is none of anybody else's business. But there's also another reason. It's kind of complicated. Come on over here and I'll try to explain.”

She stretched out her arms; Shaun climbed into them and settled on her lap. Margot hugged him, cuddling him close to her chest and nuzzling her head against his hair.

“I love you very much, Shaun,” she murmured. “And I love Danse very much too. You two are the most important people in my life. If anything bad ever happened to either of you, I would – well, I'd be very sad. You know that, right?”

Shaun nodded.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well, there are people out there who feel the same way about me – they think I'm important because of the work I do with the Minutemen and the Brotherhood of Steel,” Margot explained. “And they'd be very sad if anything bad happened to me, so I have to be careful out there. You see, not everyone out in the wastes likes what I do. Raiders, Gunners and other bad guys don't want people like me to help the Commonwealth, so they try to stop me every way they can. Fortunately, they don't know a whole lot about me, and I want to keep it that way, because that makes it a lot harder for them to track me down. Now, do you remember what I told you about your dad?”

“He was in the Army, wasn't he?” said Shaun, looking up eagerly. “Before the Great War. You said he was a hero!”

Margot smiled down at him.

“Yes, he was. He was one of the bravest men I ever knew. Well, before the Great War, your dad was fighting in another war – we called it the Sino-American War. We were fighting to stop the Communists in China from taking over our country. It's kind of a long story. But anyway, the Army taught military families like ours about something very important called “operations security”. Do you know what that means?”

Shaun looked confused, and shook his head.

“Uh-uh.”

“Well, let me explain,” said Margot patiently. “Operations security means not telling other people about our personal information - things like who our family and friends are, where we live, where we go every day and what we do, and whether we're at home or not. We need to keep that kind of information to ourselves, because if we don't, it might reach the ears of people who aren't our friends – people who might use it to try and cause us harm. Imagine what would happen if a big gang of Raiders found out that the General of the Minutemen lived in Sanctuary Hills with her family. What do you think they'd do?”

Shaun's eyes widened with fright.

“Oh no, that would be really bad! They'd tell their Raider friends and then they'd come here to attack us, so you couldn't help the Minutemen any more. Then the Raiders would take over Sanctuary Hills and kill Mr. Garvey, and Mr. and Mrs. Long, and Mr. Sturges, and Mama Murphy, and Mr. Sullivan... everyone. And then they'd turn Sanctuary Hills into a big Raider camp. It would be really, _really_ bad.”

“Exactly,” Margot finished. “Our enemies could use that information to hurt us. That's why we have to keep personal stuff private - it's to keep us safe. Danse and I have been on a lot of adventures together in the wasteland, but we've made our share of enemies along the way. If they found out that he and I loved each other, they might try to use that information against us. They might target me on purpose because they know that would hurt him – or try to capture him in order to lure me into a trap.”

Shaun looked deeply alarmed.

“I don't want anybody to hurt Mr. Danse. Or you, Mom. I promise I won't tell anybody! Not even Mr. Garvey. What if he asks, though?”

“Then tell him to talk to me about it, sweetheart,” Margot told him. “Sometimes it's okay to tell other people personal things, but only on what we call a “need-to-know” basis. For example, if we were going on a trip to Diamond City together, and we wanted to take Codsworth and Dogmeat with us, we might need to let Mr. Garvey know that we're going away, so that he can take care of our house for us while we're gone. That information would be something he'd need to know, so he can help us out – and we know we can trust him with it. But other people don't need to know that we're going to be away from home, so we don't tell them, just in case they tell someone else – someone bad who might try to rob the house while we're gone, or ambush us out on the road. Knowledge is power, and we don't give our enemies the power to hurt us by disclosing information about our lives. That's extremely important.”

Shaun's forehead wrinkled as he processed the information.

“So if Mr. Garvey really needed to know about you and Mr. Danse being in love, you'd tell him?”

“Yes, honey, but only if it was something he _really_ needed to know,” Margot said, careful to stress the last point. “I don't think he does. Not right now, at least. If I decide that he needs to know, I'll be the one to tell him. Okay? Please keep that information to yourself unless I tell you otherwise. And if you're not sure whether someone really needs to know something, don't tell them.”

Shaun looked up at her with a curious expression, but didn't say anything.

“Hey - I'm counting on you, kiddo,” Margot said, very seriously, and kissed his forehead. “If you keep our personal information secure, then you keep our family safe. That's what operations security is all about.”

“Loose lips sink ships, Master Shaun!” Codsworth boomed, as he opened the door and led Dogmeat back into the house. “That's what sir always used to say! Right, mum?”

“See?” laughed Margot. “Codsworth gets it! He knows all about operations security. The question is, do _you_ understand?”

“Yeah, Mom, I get it,” said Shaun, nodding vigorously. “I won't tell anybody about personal family stuff. Only regular stuff. Like if it's supposed to rain tomorrow. Or what's been happening on Diamond City Radio, or the TV – oh yeah, what's up with the TV? It's been playing the same episode of _RALPHIE the Robot's Incredible Odyssey_ over and over since you left on your mission. Is it broken?”

Margot raised her eyebrows in surprise, then lowered them again when she realized what had happened. Of course - it made sense. With the only surviving member of the Gunners still tied to a chair and screaming insults at an empty room, the holotapes which contained the television episodes weren't being switched out any more.

“No, sweetie,” she said, picking her next words with care. “The people who ran the TV station aren't there any more. They were trying to help the AntAgonizer hurt people and take over the Commonwealth, so Danse and I had to stop them. I think Elder Maxson's sending the Brotherhood of Steel there to take over the TV station, though. They should have it working again very soon.”

Shaun seemed satisfied with the explanation; he smiled and nodded.

“Okay. Hey, Mom? Does Elder Maxson need to know about you and Mr. Danse? Like if one of you got hurt on a mission, so he could tell the other one what happened? That would be a need-to-know basis, right?”

Margot shook her head with a little forced smile, hoping that the panic wasn't showing in her eyes.

“No, honey. He doesn't need to know. In fact, he'd probably be mad with us if he found out. Please don't tell anyone – _especially_ not anyone from the Brotherhood of Steel. A lot of people from the Brotherhood don't like synths very much, and they might try to punish Danse for being in love with someone like me. They might even try to hurt him. I don't want that to happen.”

“Me either,” Shaun agreed. “Okay, Mom, I won't say anything. And I won't tell anyone you told me not to tell. Or tell anyone that I won't tell anyone you told me not to tell. Or - ”

Margot started to laugh.

“Okay, honey, I get it! I'm glad you do too. Good talk. Hey, did you manage to fix that water purifier in the end?”

Shaun's eyes grew wide with horror.

“Oh no! I forgot about Mr. Sturges! I only came back to get my screwdriver – oh, gee, he's probably still waiting for me to help him! I'd better get going! Love you lots, Mom!”

He gave her a small, hasty kiss on the cheek and jumped up from her lap, stopping only to grab a screwdriver from the top of a cabinet on his way out of the house. Margot laughed and stood up to blow him a kiss through the window.

“Love you lots too! Be careful out there!” she called out after him.

“Dear little chap, isn't he?” said Codsworth warmly, as he floated up behind her. “I must say, mum, I'm terribly fond of Master Shaun. I do wonder where he gets his energy from, though. Getting tired of dancing and deciding that he'd rather do work instead! To _relax_ , no less! Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“He's just like his dad,” said Margot, with a new, wistful note in her voice. She was still staring out of the window as Shaun ran toward the river, disappearing behind the yellow house across the street. “Always on the go. If there was one thing Nate couldn't stand, it was boredom.”

“Mum?” inquired Codsworth. He was still hovering at her elbow, in a nervous sort of way. “About what you told Master Shaun earlier... I hope it goes without saying that you needn't worry about that information when it comes to me. I assure you that I'll keep your relationship with Knight-Captain Danse tightly under wraps! In fact, I promise not to tell a soul unless you instruct me otherwise!”

Margot smiled at him, and patted the side of his casing.

“I know, Codsworth. You've always been the model of discretion. Thank you.”

“Never fear, mum! You can depend on me!” Codsworth said stoutly. “And for the record, I'm very glad to see you so content in Knight-Captain Danse's company. Nice to see you smiling and happy again.”

“I am happy,” Margot found herself admitting, much to her surprise. “I think this is the happiest I've been since – well, before all of this.”

“Delighted to hear it, mum. Now, first things first...”

He floated over to the kitchen and returned with a plastic mixing bowl. With pincers locked around the rim of the bowl, he extended a spindly steel arm and held out the container. The smell of salt and hot butter wafted into the air.

“Do tell me what you think of the new popcorn recipe. Does it meet with your approval?”

Margot took a piece and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes widened, and then closed blissfully.

“ _Mmm_. Oh, that's good... I think that may even be as good as the stuff before the war.”

If Codsworth could have beamed with pride, he surely would have.

“Capital!” he declared. “I'll make some more. Why don't you take this over to the armory for Knight-Captain Danse to try? I doubt he's ever had popcorn before. I'm sure he'd be curious to see how it tastes.”

Margot grinned, and took the bowl from the outstretched metal arm.

“You know, Codsworth, I think I might just do that...”

*

 _Oil-based primer_ , thought Danse, spraying down the metal. If he thought about ordinary things, like the fact that the zinc-chromate layer beneath would help prevent the metal surface of his Power Armor from corrosion, rust, and the deleterious effects of the damp Commonwealth climate, and that the next step was putting the oil-based primer on – two coats, followed by the careful application of paint – then he wouldn't have to think about what had just happened.

He wondered if the burning humiliation in his cheeks would ever subside. After all the times they'd told each other that they had to be careful, he'd been so lost in the moment that he'd forgotten himself and kissed Margot right in front of her son. He should have looked around first to make sure that they were alone, _cared_ what might have happened next, but instead he'd acted with reckless abandon and ruined everything. Margot would never forgive him for his lack of discretion.

“Stupid,” he said out loud. “Why didn't I ensure that we were alone first?”

He cursed, and set down the can of primer roughly. It clattered on the wooden floor, then tipped over and rolled away with a soft _clinkclinkclink_.

“Damn it...”

He reached out for the can and put it back where it was supposed to be, then stood back to appreciate the fruits of his labor. The entire Power Armor suit was coated in a layer of white primer. The way it seemed to glow in the light reminded him of the pale radiance of the moon, and the soft, almost luminous skin of Margot's face; gentle, beautiful things, sights which filled him with a peace he'd thought he'd never feel again after that long, dark night in the bunker.

“Looks good.”

Startled by the voice from the doorway, Danse turned and saw Margot standing at the entrance. Tucked under each arm was a bottle of Nuka-Cola, and in her hands was a bowl. It was filled with small, pale, fluffy objects which bore an unfamiliar – and yet strangely irresistible – smell.

“We never did grab anything to drink while we were in the house,” she said, by way of explanation. “Oh, and I brought us a little snack. Codsworth thought you might like to try the first batch of popcorn.”

She set the bowl down on the floor and offered him one of the Nuka-Colas. Danse took the bottle and opened it with a neat motion, passing the cap automatically to Margot. She smiled, and returned the favor in kind, twisting off the cap and dropping it into his palm.

“There you go. Now we're even.”

They sat down together on the floor and looked up at the Power Armor. The primer was already drying; the sharp, acrid smell of chemicals and paint still hung pungently in the air, but the glistening surface of the metal was starting to dull. Danse knew better than to reach out and touch it to make sure – it was a mistake he'd made several times as a new Knight, still learning to care for his Power Armor, and one he'd paid for with numerous extra hours in the armory, undoing the damage his fingerprints had done to the half-dried paint job.

“How long till it dries?” said Margot at last.

Danse picked up the can of primer and read the faded instructions on the label.

“According to the instructions, the new, improved “Quik-Dry” formula means that we only have to wait thirty minutes,” he reported. “Which is certainly an improvement on the brand we had to use in the Capital Wasteland. It was at least a two-hour wait between coats.”

Margot smiled a little. She folded her legs beneath her and leaned against Danse, resting her head on his shoulder.

“So, what shall we do while we wait?”

“I was hoping we could talk,” admitted Danse. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh... I wanted to apologize for what happened back there. Kissing you like that in front of your son was inappropriate and I know it must have caused you embarrassment. I hope it hasn't damaged your relationship with Shaun in any way. Or ours. I'm sorry if I - ”

“It's okay, Danse,” Margot reassured him. “I talked to Shaun. We're good.”

Danse turned the bottle of Nuka-Cola around in his hands.

“I suppose you had to tell him about us,” he said eventually.

Margot nodded.

“Yeah. I'm sorry. I didn't really see any other option - not much point in trying to lie when he saw everything. But if it's any consolation, I also took a few minutes to talk to him about the importance of a little something called operations security.”

Danse raised his eyebrows.

“Well, that's one way to tell him not to discuss sensitive information without prior authorization. So he understands that disclosing our relationship to others could potentially jeopardize our safety?”

“Yeah, he understood. It was a conversation I was hoping to put off for a while longer, but Shaun's pretty perceptive and I think he would have figured it out sooner or later. We would have had to come clean and tell him eventually. And to be honest, it was kind of a relief, you know? Being able to admit to someone else that you and I are an item.”

“I only regret that my actions ended up forcing your hand on the issue,” said Danse, lowering his eyes again to the bottle. He took a swig of the soda and put the bottle down on the floor next to him. “That kind of carelessness on my part was inexcusable. I should have paid more attention to my surroundings and behaved with more discretion; instead, I exposed you to potential harm and almost made the whole situation untenable.”

Margot screwed up her face in disdain.

“What, by _kissing_ me? Danse, it wasn't your fault. If anyone's to blame, it's me. Although...”

Danse looked up and watched a familiar expression creep across her face as the ruby-red lips broadened; there was something playful about the look in her eyes, and the way she smiled, but she didn't seem ready to finish her sentence. If anything, she seemed to be savoring the look on his face as she left the word trailing in the air.

“Although what?” he prompted at last, with a touch of impatience.

Margot turned her head and murmured in his ear:

“I really like kissing you. And now that we're alone... well, I was hoping that we could give it another shot. Call it a little preview of tonight's main feature.”

She tried putting on a deeper voice, imitating the gravelly tones of a movie announcer:

“Coming soon! _Danse and Margot's Epic Makeout Session!_ A torrid tale of unbridled wasteland passion! Rated R for _Rawwwr_...”

Danse let out a nervous little chuckle as she drew closer.

“I don't think anybody would want to watch that, soldier.”

“Oh really?” said Margot playfully, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I guess we'll just have to make it a private screening. Just you and me... some Gum Drops... a little misbehavior...”

“Paladins don't misbehave, soldier. On or off-duty,” Danse reminded her sternly. “A Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel is expected to behave impeccably at all times.”

Margot merely smirked.

“Then how fortunate that _Knight-Captain_ Danse is taking his girl to the movies tonight,” she said, with a slight purr in her voice. “I'm sure Knight-Captains are allowed to have a little fun once in a while... and if they aren't, well, the Minutemen don't mind what their men get up to in their spare time. I hear the General's pretty lenient in that department.”

This time Danse couldn't help smiling.

“You Pre-War lawyers and your loopholes. Is there any rule you can't bend to your advantage?”

“Why, Knight-Captain Danse, I don't know what you're talking about,” said Margot innocently, and kissed him before he could respond.

It was a shorter kiss – brief and daring – but somehow all the sweeter for it. Their lips parted again and they both started to smile, but before they could even think to chance another, they heard a heavy knock on the door. Margot drew back from Danse and looked over her shoulder.

“Come in,” she called out.

The door opened and in walked Preston. Margot had to stop herself from letting out a sigh.

_Speaking of the Minutemen... Preston always seems to know when we're thinking about kissing. I'm not sure whether his timing is impeccable or unspeakable..._

“Good morning, General,” he began timidly. “I was hoping I could speak to you and Captain Danse about the outcome of your mission. Some of the settlers have noticed that the TV station seems to be stuck on a loop, and – well, we couldn't help wondering what happened out there.”

Margot tried to ignore the shame rising in her face. She'd gone out to the GNN Plaza primarily on behalf of the Minutemen, and yet she'd kept her second-in-command waiting for news long after she'd reported in to the Brotherhood of Steel. It hadn't been very considerate of her, now that she thought back on it it.

_I should have sent a message to him sooner. Poor Preston. He must have been worried sick._

“Sorry to leave you hanging, Preston,” she began, rather apologetically. “I know Danse and I didn't report in on Radio Freedom as soon as we should have. It's been a hell of a few days...”

“Why, ma'am? What'd you find out there?” said Preston, more curiously. “Any sign of the AntAgonizer?”

Margot sighed.

“It's complicated. Come on, let's head over to the barracks and we'll fill you in. Danse?”

Danse rose at once to his feet, and saluted.

“Yes, ma'am.”

They left the Power Armor drying gently in the armory as they closed the door behind them.

*

“So, what happened out there, General?” Preston asked, as they made themselves more comfortable in the office of the Minutemen barracks.

“The usual mayhem,” Margot replied, with a weary sigh. “Got into a sniper battle over the Mass Pike with the Gunners. They killed our pilot and shot down our Vertibird. Danse and I managed to jump clear of the wreckage, but it was a close call. Then the fog rolled in and we had to make camp early.”

“We'd hoped to reconnoiter the area before moving in under cover of darkness, but low visibility and skirmishes with the local wildlife made progress all but impossible,” Danse continued. “We had to wait until the early hours of the morning before we were able to zero in on the GNN Plaza. Fortunately there was a rad-storm and the severe disruption in local weather conditions provided us with additional cover. We were able to infiltrate the building with a minimum of disruption.”

“Did you find the AntAgonizer?” Preston cut in, eyes gleaming eagerly. “You got her, right?”

His face fell with disappointment as Margot shook her head.

“No. But she's been there. She had a detachment of Gunners under her command and she was paying them to operate the TV station on her behalf. Had them play holotapes of her stupid speeches in between shows. She even left some of her ant minions behind to keep an eye on them... or so we heard.”

“That wasn't the half of it,” Danse added darkly. “The Gunners have been trying to lure in Brotherhood teams in order to hijack our aircraft for their own despicable purposes. They captured one of our small-unit recon squads, killed the pilot and took the other two members captive. You don't want to know the details of what they did to them. Suffice to say that those soldiers were in bad shape when we found them. They were fortunate to have survived their ordeal at all. Lesser men would have died in their place.”

Preston sucked in his breath in a disapproving hiss.

“Gunners. Those bastards don't have any respect for human life. After what they did to those people back in Quincy - ”

“You may be pleased to hear that the Minutemen got a little payback,” Margot informed him. “We killed the Gunners. All but the last one. We left him alive, so he could tell his boss what happened to the rest of his buddies when she finally showed up.”

Preston frowned, as if he disapproved.

“You shouldn't have allowed any of them to live, General. Gunners don't deserve mercy from us. They'll only go out into the wastes again and keep hurting people, the way they always do. And if that one guy's able to warn the AntAgonizer that we're looking for her - ”

“Then she'll be scared and angry, and she'll start making mistakes,” Margot responded neatly. “People don't think straight when they're angry, and she doesn't exactly seem like the rational type to start with. Right now she's probably throwing stuff at the wall and screaming for vengeance, not sitting down with a big fluffy cat on her lap and plotting her next move.”

“Poor tactical decisions on her part will only serve to work in our favor,” Danse agreed. “With any luck, she may even come to us. Let's hope she hasn't decided to go to ground instead. We still don't know the location of her base.”

“Yeah, interrogating that one guy didn't turn up a lot of useful information,” Margot added. “What little we were able to get out of him seemed to be speculation on his part. _“Probably some fucking hole in the ground”_ was the best he could do for intel. Not very helpful.”

“There's a lot of holes in the ground out here,” Preston confirmed. “It doesn't exactly narrow things down. There's the quarry, that sinkhole out east, the Cambridge Crater, Dunwich Borers... not to mention most of the Glowing Sea. She could be anywhere.”

He sighed.

“So I guess there's nobody left to run the TV station. Shame. The others seemed to be enjoying the old shows. At least you put a stop to those insane speeches of hers, I guess.”

Margot nodded. She'd considered telling him that the Brotherhood were already on their way to reclaim the TV station, but she thought of Danse angrily retorting that that information was classified, and that she had no right to lecture her son on operations security when she'd just blurted out mission-critical information to another faction, and so she opted to remain silent. After all, she decided, Preston would find out in due course when Elder Maxson took the place of the AntAgonizer in the role of making grandiose speeches about world domination.

 _I just hope Preston doesn't ask me to go out and claim the TV station for the Minutemen,_ she thought, fidgeting uneasily _. That'll be an awkward conversation with Maxson – not that it's possible for me to have anything but an awkward conversation with Maxson nowadays, but I think that one would be especially tense. I don't want to give him any more excuses to accuse me and Danse of treachery and throw us both out of the Brotherhood... feet first._

“Yeah,” she said uncomfortably. “Hopefully that's the last time she gets to threaten the Commonwealth over the airwaves. And the Gunners just had their numbers drastically reduced. That's something, right?”

Preston smiled.

“Sure is. Good job, General. And you too, Captain Danse. You've done the whole Commonwealth a favor by getting rid of those Gunners. The fewer mercenaries we have running around the place menacing civilians, the better. Damn shame about the AntAgonizer, though.”

“You're telling me,” said Margot, with feeling. “After she turned a blind eye to the mistreatment of the Brotherhood prisoners, I'm ready to put a bullet in her head.”

Danse nodded in agreement.

“Torture and slavery are absolutely unacceptable,” he said. “And acts of violence against members of the Brotherhood will not be tolerated under any circumstances. She has to be stopped.”

“I hear you,” said Preston, nodding. “All right. I'll put the word out. Any fire ant sightings get reported immediately to The Castle via Radio Freedom. If anything comes in, you'll be the first to know, General.”

“Appreciate it, Preston,” said Margot. “Anything else?”

“No, ma'am,” said Preston firmly. “All quiet here. Grateful for the update, though – and glad to have you both home. I think Shaun and Codsworth were starting to worry.”

“No need,” Margot replied brightly. “Danse and I made it out unhurt. Sorry about the detour – we had to bring the Brotherhood prisoners back to the _Prydwen_. They needed medical treatment, and I wanted to check in on that treaty. Pleased to report that we're all signed, sealed and ready to go on that one. Maxson's sending a copy over to The Castle.”

Preston beamed.

“Now that _is_ good news. Well done, General. The future's looking a little brighter already.”

Margot saluted.

“Glad to be of assistance, Colonel. Now if you'll excuse us, we'd like to get back to that Power Armor we've been working on. Hoping to get it finished up before lunch.”

“Sure thing, General,” said Preston amiably. “Like I said, I'll keep you posted if anything new comes in on the AntAgonizer or her ants. Thanks for checking in.”

“No problem, Preston. And I promise not to keep you waiting so long for news next time,” said Margot, smiling back at him. “See you later.”

She and Danse left the barracks and stepped out into the sunshine. It was almost midday, and the sun seemed to be burning brighter than usual.

“So, shall we pick up where we left off?” said Margot cheerily, as they walked back up the street to the armory. “One more coat and then you can wear your new rank with pride.”

“Affirmative,” said Danse at once, although he'd thought, for just a moment, that Margot might have been talking about the second kiss they'd contemplated sharing, right before Preston had shown up asking for a mission report. The thought of resuming their attempts to steal kisses from each other – in a public armory, no less, when anyone could have walked in at any moment, how _foolhardy_ – sent a strange little shudder through his body.

_It's a dangerous game we're playing. We've already been discovered once. We were moments away from being caught again – thank goodness Garvey knows how to knock first before entering a room. Margot was able to persuade her son that divulging information about our relationship was a security risk, but other people might not be so easily dissuaded from spreading gossip. Should we even be doing this? Would it be more sensible to part ways and accept that this flirtation of ours can only end in disaster?_

He briefly contemplated leaving her; tenderly kissing her goodbye and vanishing in the night, so that he couldn't continue to burden her with worry, or risk bringing down trouble on her head when it all went wrong, as everything else in his life seemed to do. But when he glanced across at Margot and saw her break into a sunny smile as their eyes made contact, he realized it was impossible. He couldn't leave her side, any more than he could stop drawing breath, or stop hoping that one day, he'd be able to pick her up in front of everyone in Sanctuary Hills – hell, everyone in the Brotherhood, Elder Maxson included - and kiss her without a trace of shame or regret.

_The hell with it. I'll take my chances with whatever comes next. There's no way I can let go of the best thing that ever happened to me... not when she makes me feel more alive now than I ever did when I thought I was human._

Margot opened the door to the armory.

“So do you think we need the extra coat of the oil primer, or do you think - ” she began, but surprise cut her sentence off at the end. “The hell?”

The reek of chemicals in the room was fresher and stronger than when she'd left it; Sturges was leaning down to spray primer across the legs of the Power Armor suit, welding goggles in place and a scarf wrapped across his nose and mouth. He'd brought in a radio set with him; it sat beside him, tuned to Diamond City Radio and blaring “Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On”.

He happened to glance up, and saw Margot and Danse standing in the doorway. He removed the protective gear from his face and rose to his feet.

“Oh, hey General. Danse. Came in to grab some tools from upstairs and couldn't help noticing the base coat was dry on this Power Armor getup of yours. Figured I'd finish her up with a topcoat of primer, so you could get the paint done this afternoon. Save you guys some work.”

“Uh... thanks, Sturges,” said Margot politely. “That was kind of you.”

Sturges cracked a grin.

“Hey, no problem. Give it a half-hour and then you can start painting flames on her, or camouflage, or whatever.”

He nodded to the bowl of popcorn on the floor.

“By the way, that stuff is pretty tasty. What is it?”

Margot tried hard not to let out a exasperated sigh. The bowl was already two-thirds empty.

“It _was_ popcorn,” she said, forcing patience through gritted teeth.

Sturges gave her an appreciative thumbs-up.

“Good stuff. How'd you make it?”

“Codsworth's got the recipe. Why don't you head on over there and ask him?” Margot suggested.

“We'll take over from here, civilian. Thanks for the assist,” Danse said, over Margot's shoulder.

Sturges laughed.

“Hey, sure. Water purifier's working again, by the way. Tell your kid thanks from me. I think he and Dogmeat are playing fetch in that old playground.”

“ _Master Shaun! Lunchtime!”_ Margot heard Codsworth calling from outside. _“You too, pup! Hurry in before it gets cold!”_

“Grab a helping yourself, Sturges,” Margot told him, as they stepped aside to let him out through the door. “Tell Codsworth I said it was okay.”

“Hey, thanks. Appreciate it.”

He left the radio still playing behind him as he went across the street, with both hands tucked in the pockets of his paint-stained overalls. Margot shook her head as they went back inside.

“I can't leave _anything_ sitting around out here,” she complained, picking up the bowl of popcorn and setting it aside. “What doesn't end up at the workbench usually ends up in someone's stomach. Codsworth made me a sandwich one time - I took my eye off it for a few seconds while I helped Mama Murphy water the crops. Came back and one of the other settlers had eaten it. I swear to God, Danse, it's like living in a commune. My dad's probably rolling in his grave in Arlington.”

Danse looked stunned.

“Arlington? As in the Capital Wasteland?”

“Yeah,” said Margot. She sat down on the floor and picked up her soda; she'd wondered if Sturges had helped himself to that too, but thankfully it appeared to be untouched. She took a few sips. “Arlington Cemetery. We used to bury our fallen soldiers there.”

“A place for heroes,” remarked Danse. Something in his eyes became sad and distant. “When the _Prydwen_ embarked for the Commonwealth, the command staff back at the Citadel were discussing the possibility of reopening the cemetery. I told myself that one day, if I ever went back to the Citadel, I'd put in a formal request for Cutler's remains to be disinterred and moved to Arlington. My brother deserved a more fitting resting place than a hole in the ground near the waterfront.”

“If you do get to go back, then I want to come with you,” said Margot, touching his arm as he sat down beside her. “I want to see if I can find out what happened to my sister. And I'd like to see what the Brotherhood's done with the place since I was there last. Especially the Pentagon. I always wondered what was inside that thing.”

“A very large contingent of Brotherhood personnel, and most of the East Coast's senior command,” Danse answered. He seemed to cheer up at the thought, Margot noticed; his eyes were already brightening at the memory of home. “I'll have to introduce you to Star Paladin Casdin and the others.”

 _I wouldn't mind meeting Knight Lowden, to see why Scribe Harper thought he might be a more worthy suitor than Maxson,_ thought Margot, but she said nothing.

“What was Elder Lyons like?” she said instead. “You knew him, didn't you?”

Danse fell silent. For several seconds, he seemed to be lost in thought.

“He was a good man,” he replied eventually. “He cared about the people of the wastes. Unfortunately, I think he cared about them a little too much. In his eagerness to help the general population of the Capital Wasteland, he became increasingly distracted by humanitarian concerns and lost sight of our original goals. “Mission creep”, I think some of the others called it. Casdin and the Outcasts left in protest. A few others tried to strike out on their own and head back west, to Lost Hills. We never heard from them again. The rest stayed, loyal to our Elder. Which is as it should be, of course,” he added hastily. “And I still agree with Elder Lyons' decision to take back Project Purity from the Enclave, so that everyone could benefit from the supply of clean water. That decision was both morally and tactically correct. However, without wishing to be disrespectful to our late Elder, I believe he could have handled things much better in his final years. And Sentinel Lyons, his daughter – she was a fine commander, and Maxson admired her greatly in his youth, but I think she'd taken much of her political instruction from her father. Had she lived, I suspect it would have been more of the same. Trying so hard to help those in need that our chapter continued to decline in strength and numbers. If she hadn't fallen in battle first, she would almost certainly have been deposed sooner or later.”

“Trying to help ordinary people is a noble goal,” Margot interjected. “I'm sorry people felt that way about the Lyons family. They sounded like decent people.”

“I won't deny that,” Danse replied. “However, you know better than most that helping the less fortunate in the wastes is a never-ending task. Our resources were spread much too thin, over too large an area. Elder Lyons would have had us continue to expand our operations until we'd squandered the last of our men and supplies on ungrateful wastelanders who always wanted _more_. Whatever we did, it was never enough. And then one day, Elder Maxson stood up and told us that enough was enough – that we couldn't continue on the way we were, and that our chapter was at risk of dying out unless we took action.”

“So what was his big plan? Stop helping people altogether?”

Danse frowned.

“No, of course not. He cared just as much as Elder Lyons about the welfare of our fellow human beings. However, he was all too aware of the increasing scarcity of our resources, so he ordered that any further assistance we rendered to the civilian population be of the more practical variety - instead of bringing them water, we would show them how to dig wells. How to set up irrigation systems and harvest their own crops, instead of relying on us for deliveries of rations. He wanted to encourage their independence and self-sufficiency – to learn how to help themselves, or at least trade tech and other useful items with us in exchange for what they needed. He said that one day, the Brotherhood might need to move on, and they would have to manage without us. It was in everyone's best interests – theirs and ours – that they learned how to take care of themselves and stand on their own two feet.”

He stopped.

“I'm afraid it didn't go down very well with many of the locals. Some heeded our advice and we were glad to teach them how to source their own food and water, but the others expected us to continue doing everything for them. As we gradually scaled back our level of assistance, they accused the Brotherhood of turning its back on the wastelanders in favor of sourcing technology. When we stopped distributing food and water altogether, some of them tried to raid our caravans and take our supplies for themselves. Tensions started to escalate. And then came the Starving Time.”

His face grew tense and cold at the memory, and he looked down at the floor. Margot prompted, as gently as she could:

“The Starving Time?”

“It was Maxson's third year as Elder,” Danse began reluctantly. “The Scribes who'd been studying the local meteorology predicted extreme weather conditions later that year, and warned that localized crop failures were likely. Elder Maxson redoubled his efforts, exhorting us to continue teaching the wastelanders how to fend for themselves, while we did our best to stock up food, fuel and other supplies in readiness for the winter. Some of the civilians listened to our teachings, of course, but most ignored us. They assumed that we'd be there to help when things went wrong.”

He shook his head.

“When the winter storms came in, they brought the first snow for two centuries. We recalled all troops to the Citadel immediately and did our best to wait out the weather. The Scribes' projections soon proved to be accurate. Crops failed, all across the Capital Wasteland. Those who had made adequate preparations managed to survive the worst of it, but others... they came in their hundreds, screaming that they were starving, _begging_ us to share our supplies.”

“But you couldn't?” interrupted Margot.

“Sadly, no. We had enough to feed our own troops, but just barely. We tried to explain that we couldn't assist them, but a group of them – a small army, Raiders and wastelanders alike – tried to storm the Citadel one night. When they ignored our warnings to disengage and retreat, we were forced to fire on them. We had no choice. Had they managed to breach the walls, they would have killed us in their desperation and taken our food for themselves. It was us or them.”

Margot's eyes grew wide.

“Danse - ”

“I'm not proud of what we had to do to survive,” Danse admitted. “I know how many civilians died that day. And the others, the ones who froze and starved out in the wastes – perhaps we could have done more to help them. But we warned them all that winter was coming, and they had to be prepared. We told them, _showed them_ what they needed to do. If they'd only listened... but they didn't. They died in their hundreds from starvation and exposure.”

He sighed.

“For a long time afterward, many of the survivors accused us of hiding away in our stronghold and turning a blind eye to their suffering. They spat at us when we were out on patrol, or threw rocks and other projectiles when we passed local settlements, calling us a bunch of heartless bastards, and much worse besides. When word of the impending synth threat reached us and Elder Maxson ordered Recon Squad Gladius to depart for the Commonwealth – I have to admit, I was glad to go. All I wanted was to leave everything behind for a while and try to forget what had happened.”

Margot felt a lump forming in her throat and tears starting to well up in her eyes, even as she reached out to hug him. In spite of all that she'd suffered in the wastes, she still had some happy memories to look back on. Danse didn't. All his stories, all his memories – not one of them seemed untouched by pain or sadness.

“One of these days, Danse, you're going to tell me a happy story about your life,” she murmured, as she felt his arms close around her. “Something wonderful that brought you joy, or some crazy misadventure that turned out all right in the end.”

Danse looked at her, taken aback at first – and then he started to smile.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Cutler got stuck in his Power Armor on a date?”

Margot raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“I said something that happened to _you_ , not Cutler.”

“Well, it did happen to Cutler - right up until he decided to get me involved,” Danse said, cringing slightly at the memory.

“All right, Danse,” said Margot, smiling. “You've got my attention. What happened?”

“I was in the locker room at the time and all of a sudden, I heard Cutler yelling for me to come and help him,” Danse began. “I came running into the dormitory, half-dressed, thinking that Super Mutants had breached the walls or something of that nature, and there he was, face-down on his bunk, with some poor Initiate trapped underneath him. Turned out that their date had been going... rather well up until that point. Unfortunately, while they were getting more intimately acquainted, he'd had the bright idea of deciding that he didn't need to take off his Power Armor. I'm afraid the Power Armor begged to differ.”

Margot looked up at the suit of Power Armor on the drop sheet. When her eyes fell upon the lower torso, she started to snicker.

“Ouch...”

“Oh, ouch wasn't the half of it, soldier,” said Danse, shaking his head. “He was yelling, she was shrieking that she was going to kill him the second he got out of his armor – all while I was trying to work out how the hell to extricate him from his predicament without having to cause him some truly eye-watering injuries – and then in came Paladin Krieg, demanding to know what the hell was going on... oh, and did I mention that Cutler always slept in the top bunk? We had to climb up to try and help him.”

Margot laughed so hard that she almost knocked over her bottle of soda.

“Oh my God, are you _serious?_ ” she gasped.

“I am absolutely serious,” Danse assured her. “It took three Scribes, a journeyman Knight and the borderline misuse of several pieces of Brotherhood equipment to cut Cutler out of his armor. Krieg almost hit the roof when he saw the extent of the damage. Cutler missed out on a Knight-Sergeant promotion, I got docked a week's pay for my part in the matter, and I don't even know _how_ we managed to keep that one out of the Codex.”

They both laughed, leaning against each other in their shared embrace and giggling helplessly – Danse at the memory, and Margot at the mental image.

“That's too funny. Poor Cutler,” Margot said at last, wiping her eyes.

“Poor Cutler? He got off lightly. I was the one who had to see him being pulled completely naked from his Power Armor,” said Danse, rolling his eyes. “And I'm afraid that wasn't the first time I saw him in a state of undress. You wouldn't believe some of his shenanigans even if I told you.”

Margot's grin widened.

“Try me.”

Danse immediately launched into another story, relating his late brother's misadventures and his own hapless attempts to rescue Cutler from some very angry courtesans in Megaton, and soon laughter filled the space between the armory's walls.

“... and so Miss Silver said that if she ever saw him in Megaton again, she and Miss Nova would take that plunger and do something which, for decency's sake, I will refrain from repeating,” Danse finished. “That was the last time Cutler ever tried to pay a lady of easy virtue with a stack of Mole Rat hides, two plungers and an old desk fan. Needless to say, I refused to accompany him to Moriarty's Saloon ever again. Of course, we were both banned from the premises after the incident, so I suppose that was something of a moot point.”

“I thought you said you never got kicked out of a bar before?” said Margot suspiciously.

“Well, technically speaking, we weren't _kicked out_. We both left of our own volition. We were merely prohibited from ever coming back,” said Danse, with dignity. “Besides, Moriarty's wasn't so much a bar as a house of ill-repute which served drinks. Drinks of very questionable provenance, I might add. Cutler said the proprietor was merely being friendly when he kept grinning at us, but I have my suspicions about the contents of that whiskey...”

Margot lifted one arm away from his shoulders and reached out to touch the surface of the Power Armor. Her fingertips came away dry.

“Looks like we're ready to paint,” she announced. “Okay, let's do this. Pass me... uh... Gunmetal Gray and Flame Red. And a paintbrush.”

Danse reached across the floor and handed her a paintbrush and one of the cans of paint, before picking up a brush of his own. Margot undid her bandana and swept her hair back up neatly, tying it up on her head, then they set to work.

“ _Good afternoon, guys and gals, this is Travis “Lonely” Miles here, coming at you from the heart of the Commonwealth and the glamorous downtown studios of Diamond City Radio!”_ announced the calm, suave voice on the radio. _“First up, a little local gossip from Boston Airport. Clear your calendars and make room for the social event of the century! One of our faithful listeners from the Brotherhood of Steel has informed us that Elder Maxson is getting married to a lovely young lady all the way from the West Coast. Talk about a long-distance relationship – but hey, young love knows no boundaries, am I right, folks? Ladies, if you're one of the fortunate few on the guest list and you're in need of a date, just let your buddy Travis know and I'll gladly volunteer to be your plus-one! If not, then hey, save me some wedding cake, okay?”_

“I think young Shaun isn't the only individual in need of a lesson about operations security,” said Danse, glowering at the radio. “Someone should notify Elder Maxson that the local media is being informed of internal Brotherhood matters.”

“First your departure, then the peace treaty, now this,” Margot agreed, serenely continuing to paint the left arm of the Power Armor. “You know, I was thinking of taking Shaun to Diamond City tomorrow. He's been asking to go for a while now. Perhaps I could call in on Travis while I'm there and have a friendly chat with him about not divulging Brotherhood of Steel news to the entire Commonwealth.”

“That's an excellent suggestion,” said Danse. He resumed his work on the armor's breastplate, coating it evenly with metallic gray paint. “May I accompany you? I'd like to make one or two social calls myself.”

Margot smiled.

“Sure, why not? Shaun and I would appreciate the company. And Dogmeat's always up for an adventure. We'll all go together.”

“ _But that's not all, folks,”_ Travis continued, in the background. _“Some of you may have noticed that the local television station is on the fritz. We're now on our fiftieth repeat showing of the same episode of “RALPHIE the Robot's Incredible Odyssey”. Lot of people complaining about the number of re-runs on the air, although personally, I'm just kind of glad that we don't have to hear from that crazy AntAgonizer lady any -”_

There was a noise over the airwaves; a sudden slam, and then the clattering of footsteps.

“ _Hey, what the heck – oh God, Gunners! Please don't kill me! Take whatever you want!”_ Travis wailed suddenly, and the noises which followed sounded uncannily like the sounds of someone trying their best to hide under a table. _“Please, I don't wanna die!”_

“ _Relax, asshole, we ain't gonna kill anybody... today,”_ grumbled a deep voice. _“Got a message here from the AntAgonizer on holotape. She wants you to play it on the air. Make sure you do – you don't want us to come back and check up on you.”_

“ _Y-y-yes sir, Mr. Gunner,”_ Travis was babbling, his cool-guy persona all but forgotten in his terror. _“I'll do that! Don't you worry, old Travis here will make sure the Commonwealth gets the message! Would you, uh... would you mind leaving now? Please? We're still on the air and I've got a show to broadcast - ”_

“ _Sure, whatever. But make sure you play that tape!”_ the voice threatened. _“If you don't, you know what will happen!”_

“ _Got it! S-sure thing! Uh... bye, I guess...?”_

The sound of footsteps departed. Margot and Danse both stared at the radio, not sure how to react.

“ _Uh... oh God... hey folks, it's me, Travis. Still here! Still alive! So, uh, we just had some unexpected fan mail from the Gunners, on behalf of the, um, the AntAgonizer, I guess? I'm not sure what's on this holotape, but I really, really don't want those guys to come back, so I'm just gonna play this, and, uh, maybe change my underwear real quick... we'll be right back after these messages...”_

There was a loud click, and then came a sharp, shrill voice.

“ _This is the AntAgonizer! So, General of the Minutemen, you tried to track me down at the television station! Killed my men, and my ants! Stole their captives and their Vertibirds with the help of the Brotherhood of Steel! Yes, I know all about what you did to my broadcasting facility! You and your Knight-Captain! Rest assured that this outrage shall not go unpunished! My ants and I will find you, wherever you are, and your pathetic faction will be torn to pieces! Be ready, General... for soon you will face me on the field of battle, and my vengeance will be swift and terrible! The kingdom of the ants is nigh, and their Queen will crush you underfoot! None shall withstand my reign of terror!”_

“Oooh, so scary. No picnic in the Commonwealth will be safe!” Margot commented sarcastically, with a brief, scornful glance at the radio. “Keep dreaming, Ant Lady. Face it - without your hired help, you're just a crazy bitch in an insect suit.”

“And the Brotherhood of Steel is here to put her down,” said Danse, his voice dropping to a low, husky growl. “We know how to deal with overgrown ants. Laser to the face usually does the trick.”

“Roger that,” Margot replied. “A gun bigger than I am will take care of most threats out here. Especially when it's in the capable hands of a big, hunky guy in Power Armor. Am I right?”

All it took was a smile to make the walls of steel come crashing down; Danse blushed, and looked away.

“I'm not - ”

“Yes, you are. You're the most handsome hunk of man I've ever seen. Don't contradict your commanding officer.”

This time Danse managed a grin.

“Pulling rank on me now, soldier?”

“Hey, no backtalk,” Margot said sternly, in spite of the little smile that was threatening to break through the façade and make a lie of her disapproval. “If that sort of behavior persists, Knight-Captain, I might have to discipline you.”

“Well, we certainly wouldn't want that,” Danse said hastily, and returned his focus to the careful, diligent application of paint. “I assure you, Paladin, you have no reason to be concerned about my present or future conduct. As an officer of the Brotherhood of Steel, you have my word that I will be on my best behavior, no matter the circumstances.”

“Sometimes, Danse, I can't help thinking you're a little _too_ well-behaved,” Margot said, but now she was grinning. She caught his eye, and winked. “We'll have to do something about that.”

 _Tonight,_ Danse thought. _Second base... or whatever the Initiates call it nowadays. And I thought I was in over my head when we took on that albino Deathclaw in the Glowing Sea._

He swallowed the sudden bout of nerves and tried again to focus on his work. In the background, the music returned; for several minutes, they continued to paint in silence. At last, Margot set aside her paintbrush and picked up the bowl of popcorn from the floor.

“Well, there's still a little bit of popcorn left,” she said, looking down at the bowl. She scooped up some of the contents in her palm. “Hey, Danse, try some of this...”

Danse looked down at the paintbrush, and his paint-covered hands.

“I... uh, I'm afraid I'm indisposed right now, Margot. Perhaps later.”

Margot looked amused by his reaction.

“Need an assist, huh? Got you covered. Open up, I'll feed you some.”

Danse opened his mouth, with the intention of objecting, only to find a small handful of popcorn being fed to him.

“I – _mmff._ ”

Margot laughed as she watched his expression change from a puzzled frown to a look of pleasant surprise.

“Like it?” she asked.

Danse nodded, with his mouth still full.

“Here, have some more.”

Laughing, she fed him some more popcorn. Danse appeared to be deep in contemplation as he chewed, as if ruminating over some difficult issue, but at last, he said, rather thoughtfully:

“Sturges was right. This is delicious.”

“Good,” said Margot. “I'll tell Codsworth he got it just right. I'll see if I can rustle up some Gum Drops too.”

“I'd like that,” Danse replied. “And don't worry. I'll save you the green ones – lime, you said? And the red ones too.”

He saw Margot nod and thought suddenly of Squire Woods, who'd once announced that the blue ones – raspberry, someone had informed him, although the lurid blue color seemed to be at odds with what he'd read of raspberries in books – were her very favorites. He decided that if there were any blue ones left at the end of the evening, he would set them aside for the little Squire and present them to her when he and Margot next boarded the _Prydwen_.

“So remind me again what the Knight-Captain insignia looks like?” said Margot, from the floor. She was on her hands and knees, sorting through a pile of homemade stencils. “I kind of skipped that one while I was working my way up through the ranks.”

“That one,” said Danse, inclining his head toward the nearest one. “Solid-color shield with two stripes across the top.”

“Oh yeah... thanks.”

When Danse noticed that he was in danger of dragging his sleeves through the half-dried paint, he paused to roll them up to his elbows. No sooner had he exposed the bare skin of his forearms to the air than he found Margot laying a hand on his left arm.

“You know, you should still be wearing a Paladin rank on this arm,” she said. “Here. Hold still.”

Before he could object, a paper stencil was being pressed against his wrist and the soft, wet bristles of a paintbrush tickled his skin, daubing a glossy red onto the inside of his forearm. When Margot peeled back the paper, she revealed a small red shield, with the outline of a sword cut away from the solid color.

“There you go,” she said, giggling. “Now you're a Paladin again.”

“Margot,” Danse replied, with a small, slightly irritable sigh. “That paint is not intended for use on the human body. It's a potential chemical hazard and could cause skin irritation. Please remove it at once.”

“Not to your liking?” said Margot, with a rather exaggerated show of disappointment. “Oh, I'm sorry. I'll try again. I think you'll like this attempt better...”

She grabbed his arm again, but instead of reaching for a dishrag, she made a few more movements with the paintbrush, altering the outline and filling in the gaps in the paint with more color.

“There. How about that?”

Danse looked down. The shield had been made a little bigger, and its shape adjusted until it resembled a slightly uneven flame-red heart.

“Ever hear of people wearing their heart on their sleeve?” said Margot. She was grinning, but rather more shyly than usual. “Well, now you can wear mine if you want. Wherever you go, my heart will always go with you.”

Danse glanced down again at the damp red shape on his arm. He knew that he ought to remind her that the paint should be removed, or make some move to do it himself... but there was something about the way she was looking up at him, bright and happy-eyed, and he found that he couldn't bring himself to object. After all, he decided, a heartfelt token of love from his sweetheart was surely worth a little skin irritation.

“Thank you, Margot. That's a very romantic gesture.”

He leaned over and planted a kiss in her hair, right where it met the edge of her bandana. Margot blushed happily and leaned against him.

“We make a pretty good team, don't we?” she said, gazing up at the Power Armor.

Danse wiped one hand against the fabric of his mechanic's suit, and put his arm around Margot's waist as her head came to rest on his shoulder. He let a smile pass across his face. When had he ever been this content in anyone's company?

“Roger that,” he said softly, and kissed her hair again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glenn Miller has always been a favorite artist of mine - the inclusion of some of his hits here is a small tribute to my beloved grandfather, who taught me how to appreciate his music when I was young. The Glenn Miller Orchestra are still touring, by the way, and I highly recommend seeing them if you ever get the chance! I had the pleasure of seeing them play live a few years ago and they were fantastic.
> 
> I was interested to see characters like Deacon and MacCready make mention of the Brotherhood and how they used to be (but are apparently no longer) quite friendly towards the people of the Capital Wasteland. After all those years in Elder Lyons' care - and his admiration of Sarah Lyons - I wondered what might have caused Elder Maxson's shift in policy away from primarily helping wastelanders and back toward the Brotherhood's original goal of collecting technology, when the Lyons family would surely have disapproved of such a move. After hearing Danse shout "Remember the Citadel" as he rushed into battle a couple of times, it seemed obvious that there had to have been some kind of incident which underpinned everything. Since the lore provided no apparent explanation, I decided to come up with one of my own - hence the catastrophic winter famine known as The Starving Time.
> 
> After its initial mention in Chapter 11, I just had to elaborate on the Power Armor incident with Cutler. Poor Danse. He always said that he and Cutler kept each other out of trouble, although I took that to mean "Cutler got them into trouble, and Danse got them out of it again, so overall everything worked out". I rather liked that dynamic.
> 
> Oh, and "RALPHIE the Robot's Incredible Odyssey" is a real TV show from the series - I'm told you can see posters for it in some of the New Vegas DLCs, so I assume it was Pre-War.


	19. Alone Together

Margot stood in her bedroom and looked out through the half-closed drapes, watching the view from her window as the edges of the clouds turned rose-pink. Sanctuary Hills was beautiful in the last hour before sundown; soon dusk would fall, and the streetlamps would flicker into life, burning with the bright white light of captured stars. Then there were the neon signs of the public buildings, the electric lights on people's porches, the dull orange glow of the oil lamps which lined the paths along the river... it was still hard to believe that the settlement had been swimming in darkness not so long ago.

 _So many changes_ , she reflected. She remembered this house when it was brand new, the paint barely dry on the walls as she and Nate signed the realtor's paperwork; in spite of Codsworth's diligent maintenance efforts, it had become an empty shell in her absence, ravaged by fallout and the flight of time. Now it was a happy home again, restored to the best of her abilities - although the air conditioning and underfloor heating would probably never be the same. And she still had to do something about the empty window frames, she reminded herself. Preferably while the weather was still good.

She was beginning to wonder if Sturges might have any suggestions about how to get salvaged glass panes safely back to the settlement when she heard a knock at the front door. She jumped a little at the sound, and hurriedly adjusted the pearls at the neckline of her cream print dress.

“Codsworth? Can you get that?” she called.

“It's okay, Mom, I'll get it!” Shaun yelled.

She heard small footsteps running toward the front door, and the _click_ as it opened.

“Good evening, Shaun,” said a familiar voice. “Is your mother ready to leave?”

 _Danse,_ thought Margot, feeling her heart jump. _We're going on a date tonight. We're going to watch a movie together and eat popcorn by the handful. We'll sit high up on the concession stand roof, like we did before, and kiss like teenagers when nobody's watching. Maybe we'll get to second base. Or third. Or maybe we could go home together and -_

She almost jumped again at the sound of movement behind her, but forced herself to look casually over her shoulder, hoping that her cheeks weren't bright pink at the thought of bringing Danse home with her. She'd expected Codsworth to be hovering behind her, ready to announce her suitor's arrival; instead, Shaun was peeking around the edge of the doorway, bouncing restlessly on his heels.

“Hey, Mom! Mr. Danse wants to know if you're ready,” he informed her. “Are you ready yet?”

“Almost done, sweetie,” she told him. “Just fixing my face.”

Shaun smiled.

“I don't think it needs fixing, Mom. You look pretty already.”

“Aww,” said Margot, touched. “Thank you, honey! That was a nice thing to say.”

“I bet Mr. Danse thinks you look pretty too, because he _loooooves_ you!” teased Shaun. He burst into giggles when his mother's eyebrows shot up in response. “What? He does! Wait till he sees you in your nice dress – I bet he'll give you _lots_ of kisses! And then he'll say “ _I love you, General! We should get married and run the Minutemen together!”_. Then we can all go live at The Castle and I can be a Minuteman too, and Mr. Garvey can show me how the artillery works, and I can listen to Radio Freedom and have a hat just like yours, and - ”

Margot rolled her eyes in an attempt to hide her amusement.

“Go on, shoo,” she told him. “Tell Danse I'll be there in a second.”

“Okay! Uh... one!” Shaun counted out loud, and grinned broadly. “There, that was a second! Are you ready now?”

“Shaun!” Margot said impatiently. “What did I just tell you?”

“All _right_ , I'll tell him!” Shaun groaned, and ran off. “Hey, Mr. Danse! Mom says she's almost ready...”

“ _Acknowledged,”_ she heard Danse reply, from the living room. _“I'll wait.”_

Margot smiled to herself. It was always nice to know that Danse was close by, and nicer still to feel his presence in her home. For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder again if she could persuade him to stay the night, but she stopped her imagination before it could start running wild. After all, this was Danse, Mr. By-The-Book - so upright and proper that he'd thought kissing her on the cheek without prior permission had been an unforgivable lapse in moral standards. It would take a lot more than a movie date to persuade him to come back to her house for coffee – or for anything else, for that matter.

_Oh well. Better not keep him waiting..._

She flipped open her compact mirror, straightening up her hair and checking her lipstick one more time, then took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall.

Danse was waiting in the living room, with his back turned; she'd half-expected him to be in his uniform when she spotted the brown bomber jacket, but instead he was wearing the jeans and flannel shirt which had once been Nate's. He smelled of the recent application of soap, cold water and toothpaste, and when he turned around to see her, she saw the setting sun rise again in his eyes.

“You look wonderful,” he murmured, as she stepped forward and gave him a shy little kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, you scrub up pretty well yourself,” she joked. “Ready to go?”

“Affirmative,” said Danse, more confidently. “So where would you like to go for dinner?”

“Ah!” Codsworth interrupted, from the kitchen. He lifted up a small basket from the countertop and held it out to Danse. “I think I might be able to assist on that front, sir! You see, I wasn't sure if you and mum had made any firm dinner plans, and we've had such _splendid_ weather today, so I thought perhaps a picnic might be in order! I went ahead and prepared a few things for you to enjoy while you watch the film tonight... that wasn't too presumptuous of me, I hope?”

“Negative,” said Danse. He looked surprised by the robot's initiative, but quietly pleased all the same; he took the picnic basket from the robot's outstretched metal arm with great care. “On the contrary – that was very helpful. Thank you, Codsworth.”

Codsworth's metallic frame seemed to lift a few inches higher in the air, as if he were puffing up with pride.

“Delighted to be of service, sir! Well, off you go then! Have a good evening – and do take good care of mum, won't you?” he added, with a fresh note of concern. “Not that I have any concerns for her safety in your company, of course, but I can't help but worry about the creatures one encounters on the road nowadays. Mole Rats and Bloatflies and other beastly things... not to mention those Rust Devil characters and all those dreadful Raiders.”

“No need for concern, Codsworth,” Danse said firmly. “Paladin de Havilland is perfectly safe at my side. I won't allow any harm to come to her out there.”

Codsworth's arms relaxed again.

“Glad to hear it, Knight-Captain Danse. _Ad victoriam_ to you, sir! And to you, of course, mum! I hope you have a splendid time at the drive-in together.”

Margot grinned. Codsworth was an unlikely Cupid - full of worries, servos and the best of intentions - but there was something surprisingly sentimental at the core of that cold steel body. She thought of this morning's earnest suggestion that perhaps Knight-Captain Danse might like some coffee and a spot of breakfast, and how thrilled he'd sounded when she'd agreed that it would be a nice way to make him feel welcome. Danse seemed to be growing fonder of Codsworth, too; in spite of all his protestations that artificial intelligence was an outrageous scientific misstep, the polite, stilted manner of speech he adopted whenever he spoke to the robot was gradually softening into something a little more familiar, and breakfast had been gratefully received.

_Perhaps finding out that he was a synth made Danse give a little more consideration to personalities made up of ones and zeros. Or maybe he sees something of himself in Codsworth – a glimpse of humanity in a body that was assembled on a production line, piece by piece. But they're not the same. I wish I could make Danse understand that..._

“Are you sure I can't come too?” Shaun said plaintively. He'd been standing next to the kitchen table, making a fuss of Dogmeat, but now he and the dog were both looking up at her with pleading expressions. “Please, Mom? I really want to see Grognak defeat the Man-Saurian and save the princess! I promise I won't get in the way...”

“Not this time, sweetie,” Margot said apologetically. “I'm sorry. Maybe next time, we can take you along too and you can see what happens. But we want to watch it on our own first. Okay?”

Dogmeat made a little whining sound and looked down at the floor. Shaun let out a long, disappointed sigh.

“Aww... okay. But I can see it next time, right?”

“As long as there isn't an excessive amount of violence or, uh, romance, I'm sure your mother would be happy for you to see it,” Danse assured him. “But she and I thought we should review the content first and ensure that it's suitable for a child your age. If she approves, then maybe you can accompany us on our next visit.”

“Yes, sir,” said Shaun politely. He turned back to his mother. “Hey, Mom? If you have any snack cakes left from your picnic, will you save some for me?”

“Of course we will,” Margot promised. She grinned suddenly. “Now come here. I need a hug from you before I leave, or I won't enjoy the movie...”

Shaun launched himself into her open arms and let her wrap him up in a big, warm hug.

“Love you lots, Mom...”

“Love you lots too,” Margot told him in return, and kissed him on the cheek. “Don't forget to feed Dogmeat - and make sure you brush your teeth before bed, okay? We might be back late, so don't wait up for us.”

“I won't.”

“Okay, honey. See you later.”

She gave Shaun's hair a departing ruffle, then followed Danse out through the front door. Codsworth bade them a final farewell and closed the door neatly behind them. They heard Dogmeat bark a few times as they walked down the path which led to the street, but as their feet took them further from the house, the sound started to fade away behind them.

Danse cleared his throat.

“So,” he began. “Do you think we can make the showing at twenty-one hundred hours?”

Margot paused in her progress and looked at her Pip-Boy's clock.

“Yeah, I think we can make it. And if we don't, well, it's a nice evening for a walk, and we have a picnic to enjoy. I've had worse dates.”

They started to walk again, past the Pre-War houses with lights glowing softly at the windows. The faint sound of a radio carried on the air; Travis' voice was still a little tremulous after his run-in with the Gunners, but his confidence seemed to be returning slowly as he read out the evening's news.

“Wonder if he's still talking about the AntAgonizer's boys showing up unannounced?” Margot remarked, as she overheard the end of the news segment. They were almost at the edge of the settlement, and about to pass through the security checkpoint.

“I don't doubt it,” said Danse, giving the guards on duty a polite nod as he passed them. “Mr. Miles seemed quite shaken by the incident, although I can't say I blame him. An unexpected visit from the Gunners would be enough to perturb most civilians – especially young radio hosts with nervous temperaments.”

They passed through the checkpoint and reached the bridge.

“On that subject, we should continue our search for the AntAgonizer – and soon,” Danse continued. “I expect she's still holed up somewhere in the Commonwealth. Do we have any leads on her location at all?”

“Hard to say,” said Margot, stepping onto the bridge. “Like I said to Preston, that Ryder asshole wasn't exactly much help. _“Probably some fucking hole in the ground”..._ sure, great. Which one? There's Cambridge Crater, Old Gullet Sinkhole, Thicket Excavations... hell, they could be as far south as Quincy Quarries for all we know.”

“I _did_ wonder about the heavy concentration of Gunners in the Quincy area,” said Danse, his eyebrows furrowing at the thought. “Do you think the AntAgonizer was attempting to establish some kind of base there? That might explain why those mercenaries were so keen to oust the original inhabitants...”

“Doesn't matter now,” Margot said, as they crossed the bridge together. “Team X-Ray made short work of the place when they went to get those Vertibirds back. Quincy may still be standing, but I doubt the same can be said for the Gunners - if they weren't smart enough to run like hell when they saw Rex and his boys coming, then they're probably all dead.”

“Good,” said Danse gruffly. “They deserved everything they got, and more besides. After what those mercenary scum did to our brothers and sister - ”

“Danse, please, let's not talk about that right now,” said Margot, turning to look at him in dismay. “Can we talk about something else instead? Please?”

Danse seemed to realize what he'd touched upon; he lowered his head in shame.

“Of course, I – I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. You're right. This is hardly an appropriate topic of conversation for our first date.”

“Second,” Margot corrected him.

Danse gave her a puzzled look.

“Second? When was the first?”

“You mean you don't remember the first time we went to the movies together?” said Margot, with a gentle hint of teasing in her voice. “Come on, that was _totally_ a date! You and I were both crazy about each other. We just didn't want to admit it.”

Danse smiled. It was a small smile, but the kind that made his eyes grow a shade warmer and softer; it lit up his face like a ray of evening sunshine.

“All right, I'll admit it... I was falling in love with you. I'd even considered kissing you, although I was worried that you might sock me in the face if I tried it.”

Margot's eyebrows twitched upward, very slightly.

“I thought Brotherhood Paladins weren't afraid of anything?”

“There's a difference between irrational fear and a perfectly legitimate concern,” Danse reminded her, much to her amusement. “And in any case, I'm not a Paladin any more.”

“Not yet,” said Margot. She started to grin. “But I'm sure I'll think of some way to make Maxson reinstate your rank.”

“I think I'd have to perform some legendary feat of heroism for Arthur to even _consider_ reinstating me as a Paladin,” said Danse, a little glumly. “I doubt it'll happen. Not in this lifetime.”

Margot looked thoughtful for a moment, then wondered aloud:

“I wonder how many orphans and kittens you'd have to save from a burning settlement for him to give the matter proper consideration?”

“At least fifty of each, I expect,” Danse replied, but felt compelled to add: “But please don't stage a suspicious conflagration at the Wasteland Home for Orphans and Lost Kittens, if such a thing exists. Much as I appreciate your support, I'd rather not put that theory to the test. And I'm sure I don't have to remind you that the Brotherhood frowns on the reckless endangerment of civilians.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” said Margot automatically, with what Danse considered to be suspicious haste, but then she smiled and took his arm, and he reminded himself that the kittens and orphans of the wastes had nothing to fear from the General of the Minutemen.

_The only thing Margot ever set on fire was me... when I got caught under that rocket engine in ArcJet, I thought that was it for me and my Power Armor. But when I looked up and saw how frightened she was, the only thing I could think about was whether she was okay. Even then, I would gladly have burned for her – maybe I did. Maybe I died and I'm just dreaming all of this._

He glanced down at her hand, still resting on his left arm; the sleeve of his shirt had been rolled back down to his wrists, and it was hidden beneath his jacket anyway, but beneath the layers of leather and cotton was a painted shape which he hadn't been able to bring himself to scrub from his skin. He remembered the way she'd traced the outline of the heart on his arm, and smiled to himself.

_If this is a dream, I hope I never wake up._

As they reached the Red Rocket fuel station on Sanctuary's outskirts, they noticed movement beneath the rusting canopy, and turned to see a familiar blue robot patiently pacing the forecourt; guard duty, Danse speculated, as Margot waved cheerfully to the Assaultron, although he'd never been quite sure what it was the settlement's robots actually did all day. The pink Robobrain's only apparent role was to sneer at the efforts of the human settlers, while the Eyebot seemed to spend most of its time roaming the wastes – and he had no idea what Margot and Sturges had had in mind when they'd created the monstrous skull-helmed fusion of Sentry Bot and Assaultron parts they'd affectionately dubbed “Happy Larry”, although if its intended function was to terrify Raiders, passing traders and small children by the mere fact of its existence, then it was fulfilling the role splendidly; caravan merchants were beginning to make discreet detours and even Knight Rhys, who was notorious for his love of oversized instruments of death, now refused to pass the fuel station at anything other than a dead run.

“Good evening, ma'am,” Ada's polite, metallic voice rang out. “Are you and Paladin Danse going on an adventure?”

Margot shook her head in response to the robot's inquiry.

“No, Ada, just a picnic,” she called back. “Heading over to Starlight Drive-In. Need anything while we're there?”

“No, ma'am; everything here is satisfactory. Although I would be happy to provide protection and company for you on your travels, if needed,” Ada offered. “Would you like me to accompany you?"

“Thank you, Ada, but your services aren't required on this occasion,” said Danse immediately, before the robot could take it as a cue to join their traveling party. “Perhaps some other time,” he added, in a slightly less abrupt manner, when Margot gave him a warning look.

Ada seemed unperturbed by his tone.

“Understood, sir. Enjoy your evening.”

“Roger that,” Danse replied. _“Ad victoriam.”_

“The same to you, sir,” said Ada, with a polite inclination of her head. She nodded to Margot too. “You too, ma'am. Safe travels.”

“Thanks, Ada. See you later.”

 _Safe travels,_ thought Margot, once they were out of sight of the fuel station again. People always said it to each other on the road. Wherever she went, people seemed to wish her well – with the obvious exceptions of Raiders, Gunners and Super Mutants, who wished her dead and had no compunction about concealing their hostility.

“Please don't look at me like that,” Danse said, aggrieved, when she turned to look at him. “I remembered her name this time.”

Margot's shoulders relaxed. He was trying, she reminded herself. He'd always been taught that robots and synths were just things, and that Ghouls and mutants were only good for target practice; years of indoctrination by the Brotherhood of Steel would take years more to undo. But he was making an effort to be polite, because he knew it was important to her that he tried. It was certainly a step in the right direction.

“I know,” she said gently, and touched his arm again. “Thank you for remembering.”

She was about to walk on when a light touch on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks.

“Margot?” Danse began, as she turned back to face him.

“Yes?”

“Do you recall what you said to me earlier? About wanting to hear a happy story about my life?”

“Yeah,” said Margot. She looked curiously up at his face, marveling again at the way the light seemed to bring out new colors in his eyes. “Why, Danse? You got a happy story to tell me?”

“A few... but I think you know them all already,” said Danse. He smiled suddenly. “After all, you were there. After all our travels together, I'm starting to think that all the happy stories I know begin and end with you by my side.”

“Well, I'd certainly like to know how this one ends,” Margot said encouragingly.

“Same here,” said Danse. His smile grew shyer, and his hand crept again to the back of his neck. “I... I'm hoping it might involve a happily ever after at some point.”

When his eyes met hers again, Margot thought of young Shaun's happy chatter about kisses and marriage. After her family had been torn apart by violence and death, she'd told herself bitterly that happy endings were a lie; a fiction fit only for storybooks, or cheap romance novels. And yet, standing here with Danse and watching his face light up with affection, she was starting to believe that they might be real after all.

_It feels like something out of a fairytale. The princess and the Paladin, who found each other and fell in love against all the odds… and here we are, watching the sunset and dreaming of a love that lasts forever. When he looks at me this way, I can almost see it. A future where dreams come true. White dresses and Pre-War pearls. Kisses that taste like champagne. Showers of petals, clean sheets and breakfast in bed. Diamond rings and promises. Semper fidelis. A sky full of stars… all of it, forever, in his eyes._

“Me too,” she said softly.

Danse leaned down, as if to kiss her, then seemed to remember himself and glanced down the hill at the rooftops and empty streets of Concord; at last, he shook his head.

“On second thoughts, this doesn't appear to be the most sensible location for engaging in displays of affection,” he said, reluctantly pulling away from her. “We should probably keep moving. Keep your eyes open and your wits about you – and stay close.”

“Maybe we should hold hands from here on in,” Margot suggested, all wide-eyed innocence. “You know. For safety.”

“The terrain up ahead does seem a little uneven,” Danse agreed, with a glance down at her high-heeled shoes. “The risk of falling and sustaining injury would appear to be elevated, especially given your impractical choice of footwear. All right – take my hand, and watch your step.”

He offered her his hand; Margot took it solemnly, trying not to smile, and allowed him to lead her down the road to the center of Concord. Its main streets were still strung across with tattered bunting in red, white and blue; lined on both sides by empty storefronts, broken windows, and buildings which had silently witnessed the changing face of history. Although the silence which surrounded them was absolute, Margot noticed that Danse's eyes never stopped moving; whenever they passed the open mouth of an alley, or a door which swung ajar on the wind, his fingers twitched, very slightly, as if he were contemplating reaching for the pistol at his hip.

“At ease, soldier,” she murmured, when she felt his arms tense for the third time. “Nobody here but us.”

“While there doesn't _appear_ to be anyone else in the vicinity, maintaining vigilance is vital in these situations,” Danse reminded her. “Even if this area is abandoned, I don't intend to let my guard down for a second. There could be dangerous creatures nesting in these ruins, or hostiles attempting to monitor us from a distance, so I'd advise against complacency if I were you.”

“Complacency is one thing. Jumping at shadows is another.”

“I'm not worried about shadows.”

“Then relax. Everything's fine...”

As something subtle changed in the light, Margot happened to look up at the sky above them. The sun was setting faster on the Commonwealth, burning gold streaks across the sky and turning the pink-edged clouds deeper shades of lavender, gray and blue. Danse, however, seemed to think that she was glancing up at the crashed Vertibird on the roof of the Museum of History; he followed her line of sight, then looked around at the empty buildings which surrounded them.

“Shame,” he remarked quietly. “All these vacant buildings here, available for use, and you have five settlers and a bunch of robots crowded together in that old fuel station. I think we should send a detachment down to secure this area and reclaim it for the Minutemen. It would make an ideal location for a settlement.”

“I've been thinking about it,” Margot admitted.

“Then maybe you should act on that impulse, soldier,” Danse told her. “It wouldn't be difficult to make this area suitable for human occupation again. We could clear out the debris from these old buildings and establish a defensive perimeter; start planting crops; set up a beacon to attract new settlers and traders. Maybe even restore the Museum of History. Then we'll have a thriving new settlement nearby, instead of a potential hazard.”

“It'd be nice to have this place occupied again,” Margot agreed. “We could use a few more friendly neighbors - and these abandoned buildings aren't helping anyone if they're sitting empty. Might as well make use of them.”

“Agreed,” said Danse, with a short nod at one of the empty storefronts. “In my experience, unoccupied structures only serve to attract Raiders and mutants. We should take the opportunity to make use of this place before they do. If we allow them to creep back into the area, they'll use this place as a staging point for raids or worse, set up a permanent base of operations. The last thing we need is enemy forces cutting off our supply lines and sending raiding parties up to Sanctuary Hills.”

Margot began to smile.

“I don't see what's so amusing about the possibility of having Raiders on our doorstep,” Danse said, with a hint of reproach.

“What? Oh – no, I'm not smiling about that,” she told him. “It's you. You said _we._ ”

“Well, of course,” said Danse, looking even more baffled. He started to frown. “We're a team, aren't we? The Minutemen are depending on us to keep these settlements safe, and we'll also be doing the Brotherhood a service by securing this area. Allowing the enemy to re-establish their presence here will be detrimental to everyone; I know I certainly don't want those scum anywhere near our home.”

Margot just smiled and leaned into him, holding onto his arm.

“Our home,” she repeated softly. “I could get used to hearing that, you know...”

Danse stopped, shocked.

“I – uh, I didn't mean – you know what I meant,” he said hurriedly. “I was talking about Sanctuary Hills, and the community as a whole... I certainly wasn't implying that you and I should occupy the same dwelling. That would hardly be appropriate at this stage in our relationship.”

Margot laughed softly.

“I know what you meant! It's just nice to hear you talking about this stuff. After all your adventures in the Brotherhood, I never thought you'd take much of an interest in domestic life, but look at you now! You're turning into a real homebody. Talking about settlement-building and _our relationship_... next you'll be cooking, cleaning, and talking about getting a pet.”

“I can cook,” Danse said defensively. “And I'm no stranger to cleaning, either. Initiates are frequently put on cleaning detail when they first join the Brotherhood. It teaches the new recruits discipline, attention to detail and a good work ethic, as well as encouraging them to be tidy and hygienic in their habits. I know I've scrubbed plenty of floors in my time - we all have to pitch in and carry out basic housekeeping duties when called upon to do so.”

When he saw that Margot wasn't about to offer any kind of counterpoint to his argument, however, he relaxed again.

“On the subject of pets, we should visit the Abernathys again in a few weeks,” he remarked. “Miss Lucy informed me that their cat is due to have kittens. She said that we could take one home for Shaun if we wanted.”

Margot gave the prospect some thought.

“Not a bad idea. He likes Dogmeat. And we used to have a cat when I was young.”

“I didn't know that,” commented Danse. “What was his name?”

“Lord Fluffkins,” said Margot, smiling at the memory. “He was a grouchy old bastard, and Peggy was the only one in the family who could pick him up without needing facial reconstruction, but we loved him anyway. He was a Persian mix; one of the really fluffy ones. Mom practically had to follow him around our apartment with a broom because he used to shed so much…”

She thought of her family home, long ago, and her mother scolding the scowling cat as he plodded defiantly across the carpet, leaving little wisps of silver fur in his wake; she still recalled the sound of her little sister's affectionate laughter as she scooped him up, and the outraged _“Nrrrrf!”_ from Lord Fluffkins as he suffered through the appalling indignity of cuddles.

Danse tilted his head.

“If the way you're smiling is any indication, I think you like the idea of a house-cat,” he said.

Margot's faint smile became a more confident grin.

“Maybe. I'll think about it... unless you'd rather keep one for yourself. You said you like cats, right?”

“I do,” Danse replied. “We keep some at the Citadel for pest control - at least, that was Proctor Quinlan's excuse when he returned from a research trip one day with a box of stray kittens. They got underfoot frequently and one of them tried to use my Power Armor as a scratching post, but once I got used to having them around the Citadel, I have to confess that I grew rather attached to them.”

“Did you have a favorite?”

“Verity,” said Danse straight away. “A black cat with white paws. Gentle little creature. The calico, Liberty, was quite affectionate on her own terms, although I recall that she hated being picked up. And the ginger tom we called Fury was... aptly named. There was nothing that cat wouldn't attempt to eat, maim or destroy.”

He chuckled softly as he recalled the memory.

“The Squires used to call him “War-Cat”. They even had a little rhyme they'd chant when he was around: _“Don't break the house, War-Cat, War-Cat! Don't break the house, War-Cat!”_. They played jump-rope to it in the Bailey sometimes… funny, it all seems so long ago now. Like it happened in another lifetime.”

Margot recognized the faraway look in his eyes. She wondered how many times she'd worn the same expression since she'd left the Vault; how many times she'd stood around and dreamed about the old days, in the ruins of the old world, distracting herself from her troubles with thoughts of nostalgia and of home.

“Are there a lot of Squires at the Citadel nowadays?” she ventured, as they reached the edge of Concord and started to leave the empty town behind.

The question seemed to snap Danse back to the present; he blinked, in the manner of someone startled suddenly from sleep, but after processing the question for a moment, he answered:

“Considerably more than we started off with. Sentinel Lyons and Paladin Rex were our chapter's first Squires. They grew up at the Citadel together and were said to have been inseparable as children, although they fell out in spectacular fashion some years later and became bitter rivals – apparently they got into some dispute over the wisdom of recruiting wastelanders into the Brotherhood. Sentinel Lyons was concerned that accepting untrained outsiders would cause dissent in the ranks, and resisted the idea for some time, while Rex was more concerned about the immediate survival of our chapter – he always said that manpower and resources were in short supply in the wastes, and we ought to take whatever we could get, including local recruits. Were it not for his introduction of the sponsorship scheme, I wouldn't have been allowed to recruit you into the Brotherhood.”

“I'm not sure whether the Brotherhood should thank him or blame him for that one,” said Margot, with a tiny chuckle. “I'm guessing a little bit of both. So you knew Rex when he was a Squire?”

Danse shook his head.

“No, that was before my time. The only Squire at the Citadel when I enlisted was Arthur Maxson. He'd arrived from Lost Hills earlier that year, accompanied by Star Paladin Hopkins and his squad.”

“Maxson told me he was five years old when he came to the Citadel,” said Margot, thinking back to her conversation with the Elder. “Just a little boy...”

“Indeed,” said Danse, more somberly. His face seemed to cloud over a little. “What the Elder Council were thinking, sending the last surviving member of the Maxson dynasty east at such a young age, and so soon after he lost his parents - of course, that's not for me to question,” he added virtuously, the beginnings of the scowl already disappearing before they could take hold. “Fortunately, Arthur's presence served as a useful reminder to our brethren of the need to secure the future of the Brotherhood. We began to recruit some of the locals into our ranks in order to boost our numbers, and - well, if there's one thing wastelanders need no encouragement to do, it's to make _more_ wastelanders.”

“That's one way of putting it,” Margot said dryly. “So after all those sex-starved soldiers and horny settlers started hooking up, I'm guessing you were up to your knees in Squires after a couple of years?”

“There was something of a population boom in the ranks, yes,” Danse said, rather more tactfully. “It was one of the reasons we fought so ferociously to defend the Citadel during the Starving Time. We had almost forty Squires in our care at the time, and the youngest members of the Brotherhood were counting on us to protect them. In the Brotherhood of Steel, we defend our own, without question or hesitation. _Especially_ our little ones.”

Margot had a sudden vision of the building which had once been the Pentagon, covered in radioactive snow and surrounded on all sides by starving, desperate, angry wastelanders baying for Brotherhood rations or, if that failed, Brotherhood blood. She imagined small, frightened children pulling at Scribe robe sleeves and Power-Armored hands, asking if everything was going to be all right. Soldiers standing watch on the walls with growling stomachs and unquiet consciences, reminding themselves that if their fortress were to fall, all inside would perish.

_Maxson must have been so young when it happened. I wonder if he really wanted to turn his back on giving direct aid to the Capital Wasteland's population, or if that was the only way he could persuade the Outcasts to return to the fold. How did he react when the consequences came home to roost? What would I have done, in his shoes?_

Words abandoned her at the thought of having to repel a mob from the gates of The Castle with lethal force, while innocent people starved to death outside her fortress and the people sheltering within the ancient walls wept and cowered in fear. She shook her head instead, and suddenly pitied the young Elder for the terrible orders he'd had to give.

_Poor bastard. There but for the grace of God go I..._

She remained silent for a while, lost in the thought as they followed the road south-east toward the old diner on the town's outskirts, until she looked up once again at the sunset. The flames painted in the sky were beginning to die down to embers, fading from a blazing orange to softer shades of pink and blue.

“So Danse, tell me again about our schedule for this evening,” she said at last, changing tack. “I'd like to hear a little more about what you have planned for us.”

“I should have thought that was quite obvious,” Danse said gravely, as they reached the old metal prefab known as the Drumlin Diner. The woman who ran the trading post was turning off the neon sign which read “Open”, although she gave them a friendly little wave as they passed, as if to indicate that it was simply closing time, and nothing personal. “We have a picnic to eat, and a movie to watch. And you mentioned something about – uh - ”

He faltered in the face of Margot's gaze.

“Making out?” she finished.

Danse nodded shyly.

“Affirmative... although I'm not entirely convinced that we should engage in that kind of activity in public. It seems like an unnecessary risk. What if someone sees us together?”

“Danse, nobody's going to be paying any attention,” Margot said breezily, although the shy, anxious part of her which she'd tried so hard to bury over the years was still wondering if Danse was right. “People will either be watching the movie, or too busy making out with their own significant others to pay any attention to what _we're_ doing. Everything will be fine.”

“I hope you're right,” said Danse, who looked unconvinced. “Did you see the _Grognak_ movie before the bombs fell? I was never interested in comic books, so I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the plot.”

“Oh, you'll like it!” said Margot, her enthusiasm immediately renewed. “It's an epic tale of barbarians, monsters, warrior princesses and evil wizards, all locked in mortal combat at the dawn of the age of heroes! And I don't mind saying that the actor who played Grognak pulled off the bare-chest-and-loincloth look _very_ well... uh, not that I was looking, of course...”

Danse's eyebrows soared.

“Is _that_ why you wanted me to accompany you as Grognak the Barbarian for Hallowe'en?”

“Uh, I'm pleading the Fifth,” Margot said quickly, and looked away, so that he wouldn't see the blush of red in her cheeks.

*

They chased the setting sun across the Commonwealth until it evaded them at last, slipping below the horizon and beyond their reach. One by one, the stars stole out from behind the curtain of daylight, bringing the beginnings of twilight to the forefront of the sky. It was a peaceful evening, warm and still - the only sounds around them were the wind, their own footsteps, and the rattle of glass bottles inside the picnic basket.

“Hold up,” said Danse suddenly, drawing to a halt.

“What is it?” said Margot, concerned.

He didn't reply, but he seemed to have spotted something; without a word, he let go of her hand and darted to the side of the road, although Margot noticed that he hadn't made any move to draw a weapon. That was odd, she thought. If Danse ever broke off from a conversation or a patrol and started to run ahead, it meant that he'd caught sight of some incoming threat, but he hadn't alerted her to the presence of whatever it was he'd seen.

“Danse!” she called out. “What is it?”

She saw him set down the picnic basket on the ground and stoop to pick something up from the long, dry grass. He bent down a few more times, then grabbed the basket again and returned, triumphant; in his other hand was a small bunch of carrot flowers.

“Oh!” said Margot, delighted, as he presented them to her with a proud grin. She gathered up the little posy of flowers and hugged them to her chest, remembering the first flowers he'd ever given her, back at Abernathy Farm – imbued with the fresh fragrance of spring, their petals as clean and bright as the world after rain. “Thank you, Danse! They're lovely...”

“I understand flowers are customary on these occasions,” said Danse, a little bashfully. “Although I'm sure they're not as beautiful as the flowers from your time - I don't think many things these days can compare to what you must have experienced back then. Did you have a favorite flower, before the war?”

Margot smiled as she buried her face in the blossoms, breathing in the scent.

“Peonies,” she answered, with a new wistfulness in her voice. “I liked all kind of flowers – roses, geraniums, camellias. Cherry and apple blossoms. Sunflowers. The bluebells that used to grow in the woods near Sanctuary, and the irises down by the river. But peonies were always my favorites. I even had them in my wedding bouquet when Nate and I got married.”

Danse nodded. He knew what peonies were; he'd seen pictures in an old botany textbook in the Citadel's library, while he and one of the Scribes attempted to identify a flowering plant they'd found on patrol. The flower had turned out to be a violet - a rare find in the wastes - but as they'd skimmed through the pages of the book, he'd been struck by the sight of the huge pale-pink blossoms in the photograph, and the caption _Paeonia lactiflora_.

He'd only seen them once, and then only in a dream... the vision he'd seen in his sleep as he'd held Margot close to him on the _Prydwen_. The house with blue walls, filled with the smell of baking and the sound of a small girl's carefree laughter. There had been a woman there, too, standing at his side. Her face was dim in his recollection, her name a mystery, but he remembered that she had been beautiful. He closed his eyes and thought of a pastel-colored dress, the lingering scent of perfume, gorgeous red lips and waves of dark hair -

Danse's eyes snapped open, and he inhaled sharply. He glanced over at Margot, whose face was still half-buried in the bouquet as she sniffed the delicate yellowish carrot blossoms. When she looked up again and smiled at him, he felt his heart come to a complete stop.

_Her..._

No, it couldn't have been, he told himself sternly, even as his mind reeled at the possibility. If it was a memory, then it was a false one. If he'd ever been her loving spouse, then she would have been quick to remind him of the fact – although he doubted it was even possible to forget something of the magnitude of being married to Margot.

_Could this have been one of her late husband's memories, from before the war? Something the Institute programmed into my head before I found my way to the surface? No, that can't be possible... Margot and Nate had a son, not a daughter, and there were no Raiders or Ghouls on Pre-War televisions. There would be no point in implanting recollections which could so easily be disproved. They wouldn't have fooled anyone for a minute, least of all Margot..._

Danse shook his head, trying hard to dismiss the notion, although he felt oddly breathless at the thought that Margot might ever have been his wife, even in his dreams. His heart was starting to beat again in double-time.

_I know it was a dream, but it felt so real. Is this all in my head? What does it mean?_

He closed his eyes again and saw another moment from a dream - a woman in a white coat, surrounded on all sides by that blinding white glare. He remembered eyes the vivid green of venom, and that high, sharp voice:

“ _He belongs to me...”_

The memory of the nightmare was suddenly replaced by a familiar throbbing pain at the back of his head; the beginnings of another headache. He stopped, wincing, and fumbled in his pocket for the bottle of painkillers.

“You okay, Danse?” said Margot, beside him.

“Affirmative,” he grunted. “Just another headache...”

Danse unscrewed the bottle's cap and knocked back one of the pills, swallowing it dry. He tried to ignore the bitter taste, and the slightly anxious look Margot was giving him.

“You sure you're okay? We can go back to Sanctuary Hills if you - ”

“No,” he interrupted her, before she could try to pull him back in the opposite direction. “No. It's okay. I'm fine.”

 _Just a headache,_ he told himself, as Margot nodded uneasily and started to walk again beside him. _Just another foolish dream._

*

It was dark by the time they reached Starlight Drive-In. Electric-blue neon hummed and crackled against the outline of the concession stand, and the new addition of a salvaged marquee board beside the entrance announced the current schedule, in slightly crooked plastic lettering:

“ _Now Showing – Love Sets Sail! - Those! - Grognak the Movie”._

Below were two more lines, which read:

“ _Coming Soon – Hunger For Handcuffs!”_

Margot groaned.

“Oh God, I'd almost forgotten they made a movie out of that stupid book. Nate tried to drag me to see it once. I told him if he got tickets for our next date night, I'd chase him up the street with a rolling pin.”

“I believe that,” said Danse, chuckling. “I remember the time you took on a pack of Ferals with nothing but an old pipe wrench! I thought you'd taken leave of your senses...”

Margot responded with an airy little laugh.

“Hey, I was out of ammo. What's a girl to do?”

“She could always ask her commanding officer,” Danse reminded her.

Margot grinned, and stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear:

“I think I'd rather ask my _boyfriend_.”

Danse's ears went red.

“I... um...”

She kissed him on the cheek before he could say another word.

“Come on. Let's find somewhere to sit before it starts filling up around here. I think these little movie nights they're having are really starting to take off...”

As they walked toward the concession stand, Margot noticed that there had been more truth in her offhand observation than she'd realized; the audience for tonight's feature was at least double the size it had been on their last outing, and there were more than a few people she recognized from neighboring settlements. Sheffield was sitting on a barstool, nursing a Nuka-Cola, while Minuteman Holmes was doing his best to persuade Lucy Abernathy that she should let him treat her to a drink too. Across the way, near the marketplace, she spotted Doc Weathers, a traveling caravan doctor who sold chems, medical supplies and his slightly dubious brand of professional expertise. Even Wiseman had made the trek from The Slog, perhaps to see what all the fuss was about – she cringed when Danse turned his head to stare, expecting some muttered comment from him about how the pale, wizened Ghoul could turn Feral and slaughter the populace at any moment. Instead, he merely raised his eyebrows.

“Isn't that the Ghoul who founded The Slog?” he commented. “I'm surprised he found the time to make the trek out here, given the amount of time needed to properly cultivate and sustain a large crop of Tarberries. The setup at that old swimming pool must be quite efficient if they're able to find time for leisure activities.”

Margot's eyebrows arched in response.

“Danse, that may be the nicest thing you've ever said about a community full of Ghouls.”

“I suppose they aren't doing anyone any harm,” Danse replied, rather grudgingly. “And I have to give them credit for their ingenuity. But I've said it before, and I'll say it again. If he or the others even _look_ like they might be turning Feral, it's my duty to - ”

Margot glared at him and withdrew her hand from his.

“Danse, if you _dare_ finish that sentence, I'll turn right around and go home without you!” she said shortly. “Wiseman's been a good friend to me, and a valuable ally to the Minutemen – if he and the others hadn't come running when Cait and I ran into that Deathclaw near The Slog, you might not even _have_ a girl to take to the movies! Show a little respect, okay?”

Danse opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when he found himself met with dark, angry eyes and a disapproving red frown. He decided that on very rare occasions, there were more important things than spreading the Brotherhood's ideology, and that it might be sensible to back down.

“I – I suppose you're right,” he said reluctantly. “I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to cause offense.”

“Quite right too,” Margot said, with another sharp look in his direction. “You're always talking about how it's our duty to win over people's hearts and minds – maybe you should try showing our Ghoul friends a little more sympathy. Who knows, you might even be able to persuade them that the Brotherhood of Steel is a force for good in the Commonwealth… maybe get them to help us out once in a while.”

“Hmm,” said Danse, with rather less certainty. “Food for thought, I suppose...”

Margot noticed his discomfort and opted to let the subject drop.

“All right, that's enough arguing,” she told him. “We're supposed to be having fun. Come on, let's head on up there and see what Codsworth packed for us!”

“Acknowledged,” said Danse, brightening a little. “You think there are Gum Drops?”

Margot grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction of the concession stand.

“I hope so!” she said, breaking into giggles as they ran through the door and up the stairs together. “If there are, I promise to feed you all the grape ones!”

“Outstanding!”

They emerged, laughing, from the stairwell into a sea of glimmering twilight and a pale white glow as bright as the moon. The flickering screen awaited, illuminated by a beam of brilliant light and aglow with the promise of cinematic adventure.

“All _right_ ,” Margot said cheerfully, as they sat down on the edge of the roof. She set down her bouquet and reached over to open the picnic basket. “Let's see here... wow, Codsworth actually made us sandwiches! Razorgrain bread and... what is that, Deathclaw steak? Brahmin cheese? And Tatos... wow, he really went all out! Look at all this stuff!”

Item by item, she unpacked the contents and laid them out for inspection. Potato crisps; a box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes; Dandy Boy Apples; some Mutfruit; two bottles of Nuka-Cola; and right at the bottom, an old coffee can filled with popcorn.

“I think Codsworth packed enough to feed an army,” said Danse, impressed. “We certainly won't go hungry - although it's a pity he wasn't able to locate any Gum Drops for us.”

“Yeah, I – no, wait, here they are!” Margot announced, and produced the small pack of Pre-War candy. “One pack of Gum Drops, just for us! I get green and red, you get purple, we _both_ get orange and yellow, and the blue ones - ”

“I was hoping we could save the blue ones for Squire Woods, the next time we see her,” Danse interrupted, before she could finish. “She said the blue ones are her favorites.”

Margot smiled.

“You're very fond of Squire Woods, aren't you? How come? You two have some kind of connection I don't know about?”

“Knight-Sergeant Woods used to be in my squad, years ago,” Danse explained, as Margot opened the pack of Gum Drops for inspection. “He was a capable soldier and he was personable enough, so we got along pretty well. He and I were on a short-range recon assignment one day when he accidentally surprised a Yao Guai and her cubs in the ruins of an old house. I saved him from being mauled and managed to get us both out of there in one piece. He and his wife had recently married and were expecting their first child – when Squire Woods was born, they asked me to be her godfather, as a token of their gratitude.”

“You're her godfather?” said Margot, looking up in surprise. “You never told me that...”

Danse looked away, across at the parking lot below them; the dark shapes of the houses, the hulks of rusting cars, and the lights and power lines strung across narrow alleyways.

“That's because I'm not,” he said eventually. “Honored though I was to have been considered for the role, I was concerned that people might think I was favoring one Squire over the others. I didn't want her to be accused of receiving preferential treatment either. In the end, I decided that it would be best for me to remain impartial in the matter, so I declined. Now, though...”

He let out a quiet little noise which might have been a sigh.

“Don't get me wrong - I know that it was the right thing to do,” he continued. “It would have been selfish of me to accept the role and risk becoming a potential impediment to Squire Woods' future career. But sometimes I can't help wondering if I should have said yes. I've always been fond of Squire Woods, and it would have been nice to have had that connection with her. Especially now that I know I can't – well - ”

Margot looked at him and watched the lines in his face deepen.

“Hey,” she said sympathetically. She put down the Gum Drops and took his hand again. “You may not be her godfather, but you're still an important person in her life. Squire Woods knows that you care about her, and that you'll always be there for her if she needs you. And she thinks the world of you. You know that, right?”

“I know that the younger members of the Brotherhood look up to the Paladins,” said Danse. He tried to smile as Margot's fingers wound their way through his. “I've always endeavored to set a good example for them.”

“Well, Squire Woods certainly looks up to you,” Margot pointed out. “You're her hero. You could tell her that you were secretly half-Deathclaw and that little girl would _still_ think you were the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

Danse laughed, rather hollowly.

“I think Lancer-Initiate Woods would have an even better excuse to put two bullets in my head if I were to identify myself as being half-Deathclaw, half-synth. But we seem to be veering back toward the subject of work again.”

“Yes, we are. Let's talk about something else,” Margot began, and then she started to smile. “No, wait, I have an even better idea... how about a toast?”

“A toast?” said Danse, surprised.

“Sure! Why not?”

He watched as Margot took one of the Nuka-Cola bottles from the open basket and cracked it open with the tip of a butter knife, twisting off the metal cap as air hissed from the opening. She repeated the trick with a second Nuka-Cola and handed it to Danse, then gave him a big smile and raised her soda bottle.

“Here's to a successful second date,” she announced.

“To a successful date,” Danse agreed. “And to the Brotherhood, of course.”

Margot smiled gently.

“Of course. To the Brotherhood.”

Glass bottles clinked together; they each took a swig, then smiled and set down their drinks.

“This is nice,” Margot said, looking at him again with a small, dreamy sigh. “Reminds me of the last time I was here with you...”

“Agreed. This is very – oh. Looks like the movie's starting,” Danse observed, as an image flashed up onto the movie screen – a static advertisement for Nuka-Cola Quantum, which was quickly replaced by the trailer for a big-screen version of _The Unstoppables._ An assortment of cheers, laughter and excited noises went up from the people sitting on the barstools, lawn chairs, crates and roofs below, then the hubbub was buried beneath the weight of whispers and another sound Margot was familiar with, after hundreds of visits to the local movie theaters:

“ _Ssssh!”_

Margot stifled a giggle and reached for the popcorn.

“Permission to try some?” said Danse hopefully.

“Sure. Don't forget to share.”

“Of course.”

Danse took the container of popcorn – the can had been carefully washed, so that no trace of ancient coffee grounds would taint the new contents – and set aside the lid. Popcorn was a curious foodstuff, he thought, but really quite appetizing. He grabbed a handful and passed the can back to Margot. She took a few pieces and popped them into her mouth, one by one, then said:

“Hey, Danse?”

“Yes?”

“You can sit a little closer if you want...”

Danse reminded himself that it was rude to chew with his mouth open. He looked down at the few inches of space between them, swallowed, and said:

“All right. I mean – if you're sure.”

“Sure I'm sure. Come on over here.”

Danse shuffled sideways, closing the gap between them, and felt Margot lean into him. He smiled a little, and put his arm around her waist.

“I like when you're this close,” he murmured.

“I like it too,” Margot whispered back, into his neck. “Whatever you do, don't move.”

“Roger,” said Danse obediently, without thinking. “Holding position.”

He heard a soft little _hmm-hmm_ of laughter next to his ear, and felt her reach again for his hand. When he grasped her hand in response, he felt something hard and unyielding; he looked down to find his fingertips unconsciously tracing the outline of the gold wedding ring on her finger.

“You okay, Danse?” said Margot, looking up from his shoulder.

“I'm fine,” said Danse hurriedly, returning his thoughts to the present. “I - ”

“What?”

Danse shook his head.

“Nothing. It's just... I can't quite believe you're mine.”

Margot smiled warmly, and squeezed his hand.

“Yes, I am. All yours.”

 _To have and to hold,_ thought Danse, suddenly dizzy at the thought, as she laid her head on his shoulder again and watched the title _“Grognak the Barbarian: The Movie”_ flash up onto the movie screen. _It seems impossible – in fact, I know it is. Everything about that dream was impossible. Ridiculous. Absurd, even. So why can't I get it out of my head?_

He looked up again in the hope of finding distraction in the movie, and tried to focus his attention on the screen. The title was fading from sight, revealing a backdrop of dark sky and snow-covered mountains, with the sinister outline of a castle sitting high in the moonlit hills.

“ _In a land of magic and monsters,”_ intoned the movie's narrator, _“there lives a hero whose name is legend! With his warrior heart and his mighty axe, his destiny is to rid the realm of evil and oppression – and his name is Grognak the Barbarian! Our tale begins with our hero's ride to the Castle of Doom, one bitter winter's night...”_

 _Speaking of The Castle, I don't think Major Shaw's met our latest addition to the officer corps,_ Margot thought, with a little sideways glance at Danse, who seemed lost as much in thought as the movie. _Ronnie didn't seem too impressed when Preston and I introduced her to MacCready, but I think she might like Danse a little better. After all, he's brave, loyal and disciplined, and he knows all about tactics and combat, and he's -_

She looked up at Grognak the Barbarian - who was already engaged in an epic struggle with a villainous group of bandits, all bare chests, leather and clashing steel - then smiled to herself, and turned to look at Danse.

_More handsome than Grognak and Captain Cosmos put together. I could look at him all night..._

The weight of her stare drew Danse's eyes inexorably back to hers, and suddenly he was caught up in her gaze; like a Radstag trapped in the beam of a headlamp, he seemed to have been rendered instantly, helplessly immobile, transfixed by the curve of her lips and the warm light in her eyes.

“What?” she said quietly. “What is it?”

In the pale light of the movie screen, beneath the twinkling of a hundred thousand stars, she was captivating; a gorgeous figure painted in light and shadow. If he could have chosen a single moment in time in which to find himself forever trapped, Danse decided, it would be now, although even forever felt like too short a time in her company.

“You're beautiful,” he said softly.

He found himself touching her cheek without any memory of having raised his hand, and felt his heartbeat start to race again as she smiled. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the onset of nerves - but then he remembered what had happened the last time he'd overcome timidity and dared to let his feelings show.

_I thought I'd overstepped my bounds with that display of affection, but she came to find me. She felt the same. We kissed in that empty house, surrounded by the sound of rain, and now here we are, together. If all the worst moments of my life brought me even a single step closer to being here, then they were worth it. I'd endure them all again for one more day with her..._

“So are you going to sit there and stare at me all evening, Danse, or are you going to kiss me?”

The words snapped Danse out of his reverie; Margot was still looking at him and waiting for him to make the next move, he realized. Someone had told him once that it was rude to keep a lady waiting. It might have been Cutler, or one of the other Initiates from their training days, or even Proctor Ingram, who delivered such sentiments with her usual dry wit and faint half-smile. He cleared his throat lightly, to dispel the glow of embarrassment, and said:

“It _was_ my intention to kiss you... if that's all right with you, of course.”

“Sure. Go right ahead.”

Danse leaned forward, a little nervously, and drew in his breath. His heartbeat seemed louder and faster than ever, but the thrill of anticipation was already pulling him deeper into the embrace. He wrapped Margot up in his arms, almost sighing as he caught the smell of perfume at her neck, and let his lips find their way to hers in the dim light -

A loud wolf-whistle cut through the clear night air, piercing the hush that surrounded the drive-in. Margot gave a shocked little gasp, and looked around so fast for the sound of the noise that she lost her balance. Danse grabbed her before she could topple off the roof, and pulled her back into his arms, clutching her protectively to his chest.

“Got you – it's all right. You okay, soldier?”

Margot nodded, her eyes still wide with panic.

“I'm okay… what the hell was that?”

They heard footsteps come up the stairs behind them, and then a snicker of laughter.

“Tryin' to cop a feel, eh, Dansey?” said the newcomer, grinning broadly. “Hah! I always thought that Power Armor of yours'd left you numb from the waist down or somethin'...”

“ _Cait?”_ said Margot incredulously, as Danse went bright red and immediately removed his hands. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, MacCready and I thought we'd look into this movie business,” said Cait, rather flippantly, as though they'd trekked through miles of hazardous wasteland on a passing whim. “Heard they were showin' those old pictures from before the war – Grognak and giant ants and all that other shite.”

She sat down heavily next to Margot, fidgeted for a moment, then removed a bunch of crushed carrot flowers. She cast the sorry-looking blooms carelessly aside, then continued, without a second glance at the petals and stems littering the asphalt below, or Danse's slightly wounded expression:

“Waste of time, if you ask me, it's all made-up, but MacCready fancied the idea, and he said there was booze at the concession stand, so I figured what the hell. Might as well give it a look. Not interruptin' anythin', are we?”

“Yes,” said Danse, glaring at her.

“No,” Margot said, at the same time. “No, that's okay. Where's MacCready?”

“Right here,” said MacCready cheerily, hurrying up the stairs, even as Danse's face darkened. He handed Cait a bottle of Gwinnett Lager and cracked open one of his own. “What'd we miss?”

“Not much,” Margot replied straight away. “Grognak's just arrived at the Castle of Doom and he's looking for Femme-Ra. He thinks she was the one to blame for the bandit attack on the village.”

MacCready looked relieved.

“Whew, thanks. Sorry, we're running a little late - ran into some Radscorps on the road. The others should be here any minute.”

“ _Others?”_ repeated Danse, appalled. “What do you mean, _others?_ How many - ”

“Hey, Blue!” interrupted another voice, from the stairwell. “Are we late?”

Margot turned and waved, a little feebly, at Piper, Nick and Deacon as they emerged from the doorway and stepped out onto the roof.

“Uh... hey, guys,” she said politely. “No, it just started. Grognak's at the Castle of Doom.”

“Good,” said Piper, with a bright smile. She sat down cross-legged near the edge of the roof, then took out her notebook and pen and started to scribble. “For a minute there, I was worried we were going to miss the start of the movie...”

“Why are you here?” said Danse, through lightly-gritted teeth.

“Movie reviews,” Piper responded, still writing furiously. She didn't seem to have noticed the scowl on his face. “ _Publick Occurrences_ did a little feature on the movie theater reopening and people wanted to know if the movies were any good, so I figured hey, why not start a review section? Tell people if it's worth the trip to see _Love Sets Sail!_ or if they should hold out for _Hunger For Handcuffs_...”

She looked embarrassed, coughed, and added hastily:

“... or, uh, y'know, whatever they feel like watching...”

“I'm more of a _Hush, Sweet Senator, Hush_ man myself,” commented Nick, sitting down with a slight creak of metal joints, and Piper automatically shifted over to make room for him. “But the old Nick used to like taking his girl to the movies, and Jenny always liked _Grognak the Barbarian_ , so I figured it might be fun to see it again... just like old times.”

“Yeah, this one's my favorite,” Deacon said casually, sitting down behind Cait and MacCready. “I've seen it, like, fifty times already. At _least_.”

“You'd better not be the guy who sits in the audience and tells everyone what's gonna happen next, Deacon,” Cait warned him. “If you ruin the story for us after we trekked halfway across the Commonwealth to get here, I swear to God I'll punch your lights out!”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” said Deacon, looking slightly hurt. “Although - ”

“Monsieur Deacon! I hope you are not telling people the _spoilers!_ ” said Curie reproachfully, as she stepped daintily onto the roof. “What a pity it would be to ruin the ending for everyone else, when they have not seen the film before!”

“I suppose Hancock will be joining us at any moment,” said Danse sourly, looking around at the little crowd which seemed to have gathered around them – MacCready had already crawled forward on his hands and knees to rummage through the picnic basket in search of snacks.

“Nah, he was coming, but I think he's been hitting the Ultrajet again,” said the younger man, with a little shrug. He set aside the box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes and continued his excavations in the lower reaches of the basket. “He got too high and forgot how to walk... we had to bench him.”

“You left Hancock passed out on a bench on his own?” said Margot, aghast. “Are you serious?”

“Ehh, don't worry, he barely made it out of Diamond City,” said MacCready lightly, waving away her concern. “The guards said they'd keep an eye on him until he wakes up. We'll pick him up on the way back...”

His eyes lit up as they fell upon the open coffee can and its fluffy, buttery contents.

“Oh hey, is that popcorn? I always wanted to try that stuff.”

“Go ahead,” said Margot helplessly; at this stage, there seemed to be no other option but to give in to the inevitable. “Help yourself.”

MacCready grinned and scooped up a large, greedy handful of popcorn.

“Don't mind if I do! Hey, guys, want some popcorn?”

“Sure!” said Piper enthusiastically, taking up the can from his hands.

“I'll take some,” Deacon piped up, reaching over Piper's shoulder to help himself.

“Me too... oi, MacCready, save some for the rest of us!” Cait complained, as the mercenary snatched the can back from her and grabbed another handful. “Hey – hey, c'mon now, that's too much! Give it here, you greedy little shite!”

“Make me!” retorted MacCready, through a mouthful of popcorn.

“Oh, I will!” Cait snarled. “Gimme that!”

“Such violence!” said Curie, dismayed, as the two started to bicker and wrestle. “We should not fight at the cinema! The men with the uniforms and the little flashlights, they might throw us out! And then we will never know the ending!”

“Hey, knock it off, you two!” Nick scolded them. “If you want to fight, take it downstairs!”

“Yeah, guys, I can't hear anything!” Piper complained. “Deacon, what's going on?”

“ _Well,”_ said Deacon with gusto, as Cait and MacCready's epic struggle continued, “Grognak defeats Femme-Ra in battle and threatens to curse her young unto the seventh generation unless she tells him where Grelok's lair is, but then Femme-Ra says that the _real_ culprit was the Man-Saurian, who - ”

“Noooo!” squealed Curie, making an attempt to cover her ears. “The spoilers!”

There was a terrible noise as the container of popcorn flew from MacCready's hands and rained its contents onto the parking lot below. The mercenary and the redhead's mouths both dropped open as the empty tin clattered and rolled away, and then they turned to glare at each other.

“Now look what you did!” they both yelled.

“ - and _then_ Skullpocalypse steals the princess from her castle, so Grognak has to save her, but first he has to deal with the Enchantress of Leng, who kidnapped Red Seren so that she could absorb her immortality in a dark, forbidden ritual,” Deacon continued, cheerfully oblivious to Curie's pleas for secrecy. “So Grognak shows up at her underground temple and he's all _“Hand over the bandit queen, wench! She alone knows the secret of defeating J'hai the Cursed and his skeleton army!”_ , but the Enchantress tells him that she's the only one who knows the identity of Grognak's true father, so then Grognak _totally_ flips out and invokes the sacred power of his ancestors to - ”

“Monsieur Deacon, I implore you! No more of the spoilers!” Curie begged. “I wish to see the ending for myself!”

“Yeah, we came to watch the movie, not hear the book-on-holotape,” said Nick dryly. “C'mon, Deacon, don't ruin it for everyone else.”

“I'm not ruining it!” Deacon said, looking mildly hurt. “I'm adding expert commentary!”

“You're – hey, MacCready, Cait, that's enough!” Nick ordered, turning his attention to the two jostling audience members nearby. “Stop acting like a pair of goons!”

“She started it!” MacCready yelped, as his opponent jabbed an elbow into his ribs. “Hey, it's not okay to hit! C'mon, quit it!”

“Hey, down in front!” Piper yelled, her view obstructed once more by flailing limbs. _“We're trying to watch the movie!”_

Very slowly, Danse's face fell.

*

The night wore on. Before Margot knew it, the credits were rolling, the companions had picked themselves up, and now they were all heading home to Sanctuary Hills together in a laughing, bickering band.

MacCready, Deacon and Curie had gone on ahead, enthusiastically discussing the scene in which Grognak had battled the Man-Saurian at the edge of a volcanic crater, and speculating as to whether Grognak's adversary had survived his fateful plunge into the caldera – Nick had just interrupted to comment that such a scenario was highly unlikely, given the general nature of boiling lava, although his reasoning was being drowned out by a series of increasingly outlandish suggestions as to how the villain might have escaped unscathed.

Margot, meanwhile, had fallen more or less into step with Cait and Piper as they walked. Piper was still scribbling notes compulsively, as if she feared forgetting some small detail before she could get it into print, although she occasionally stopped to chew on the end of her pencil while she considered her next few words.

“So, what'd you think of the movie, Piper?” Cait was saying, her green eyes aglitter with mischief. “Gonna tell your readers to go see Grognak the Barbarian fightin' bandits with his shirt off?”

Piper looked up from the open notebook; Margot caught a glimpse of the reporter's horrible shorthand scrawled across yellowing lined paper, and the title _“Movie Review”_ double-underlined in capital letters at the top of the page.

“Hmm,” she said, removing the well-gnawed stub of pencil from her mouth. “You know, I'm not sure. I was hoping to see more of Femme-Ra in the movie. And I always thought Grognak would be taller, you know? The sets were pretty cool – especially the volcano, holy crap, that was neat – but the costumes... ehh... I think I'm gonna give it three stars. Needs more loincloth.”

Cait snickered.

“You mean _less_ loincloth, right?”

Piper looked momentarily nervous, then burst into pink-cheeked giggles.

“Yeah, I guess you're right – there's a lot less fabric in the comic books! All right, two and half stars... they really needed to pay more attention to wardrobe...”

Cait nudged the reporter with a lean, pale elbow, so hard that Piper winced and rubbed her side.

“His wardrobe didn't escape _your_ attention though, eh, Piper? Couldn't keep your eyes off our boy Grognak, am I right?” she said, smirking, then turned to Margot and said:

“How 'bout you, Margot? You think Grognak's better-lookin' than Captain Cosmos, or do you think he's a little lackin' in the loincloth department?”

But Margot's attention had already drifted away from the exchange, and now she was casting a sympathetic look back over her shoulder. Lingering several yards behind everyone else was an unhappy-looking Danse. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes lowered morosely to the ground; the picnic basket, now empty, dangled from the crook of his arm.

 _Poor Danse,_ she thought, biting her lip. The unscheduled arrival of her band of companions had only been the start of their romantic woes. Before she could stop them, the others had methodically worked their way through the snacks in the picnic basket, chattering at full volume all the way through the movie. Even a shy attempt to put his arm around her had been thwarted when MacCready rolled his eyes and said – loudly and very conspicuously:

“ _Ugh, gross! Get a room, you guys...”_

Danse had given him a defiant stare in response, but when nobody else had been paying attention, he'd let out the smallest, saddest sigh she'd ever heard, and looked away at the screen. He'd watched the rest of the movie without much interest, and hadn't uttered a word since their departure from the drive-in.

“Well?” repeated Cait, rather impatiently. “What's the verdict?”

“Yeah, Blue, what do you think?” Piper said, smiling. “Captain Cosmos or Grognak?”

“Uh, I might have to get back to you on that one,” Margot said, with another distracted look back over her shoulder. “Excuse me. I'm going back to check on Danse...”

“Don't know what you're botherin' with him for,” said Cait rudely, as Margot turned and headed in the opposite direction. “If Danse wants to sulk back there on his own, let him! He's a grown man and he doesn't need you to hold his hand... don't know why you'd want to anyway, miserable bastard that he is...”

“Cait,” said Piper, her eyebrows and her tone of voice both lowering to dangerous levels. “Leave her alone. She can go talk to him if she wants. Come on, why don't we catch up with the others? Then you can ask Curie what she thinks of Grognak's loincloth.”

Cait sighed, in a very dramatic and exaggerated way, but her mischievous grin soon returned.

“All right, Piper, you win. We'll leave them to it.”

She raised her voice, and bellowed:

“Oi – Curie! Did you get a load of Grognak and that great big weapon of his?”

“Oh – why, yes, I thought that the weapon of Grognak the Barbarian was _most_ impressive!” Curie called back, still so wide-eyed with awe from her first cinematic outing that she didn't even notice Cait's barely-suppressed snort of laughter. “Although I wonder, did Monsieur Grognak not get cold when he was fighting those bandit chieftains in the snow? That loincloth did not provide _nearly_ enough coverage for such weather conditions – how he did not get the hypothermia, I will never know!”

“What with all those bandits and skeletons around, I don't think he had time to worry about the weather, Curie,” Piper assured her, as they caught up. “Besides, I'm sure all the fighting kept him warm. Especially when he got to the volcano.”

“He'd have frozen his balls off in the real world, runnin' around half-dressed in the snow like that,” Cait commented. “Lucky for him it was all fake, right?”

Whatever Curie's response was to that observation, Margot didn't hear it; she was hurrying back to Danse, taking care not to catch her heels in the dips and cracks of the road. He glanced up from the ground at her approach, and Margot felt her heart melt a little more in sympathy when she saw his face; he looked so disappointed, she thought. He'd been looking forward to taking her out and spending the evening in her company, and she'd ended up being so distracted by the unexpected presence of her friends that there had been no kisses, or tender embraces, or even any real conversation between them.

“Danse,” she said softly. “Hey, sweetie. You okay?”

Danse made an exasperated noise.

“Negative. They ate everything. _Everything_ ,” he complained, swinging the picnic basket on his arm so she could see the empty containers within. “Cait sat on your flowers. I missed most of the plot because they were so busy talking about what was going on. _And_ they took all our Gum Drops... at least, I think they did. I couldn't find them anywhere.”

Margot merely smiled and hitched up the edge of her skirt to thigh-level, revealing the little cardboard pack of Gum Drops tucked into a stocking-top.

“Maybe you weren't looking hard enough,” she said, with a wink which almost reduced Danse's spine to jelly. “Don't worry. I hid them when I saw MacCready was on the prowl for more snacks. Gatecrashing our date with the rest of the gang is one thing, but I wasn't about to let him take our Gum Drops too.”

Danse let out an embarrassed little noise which almost sounded like a chuckle.

“Well, Paladin, that was certainly a shrewd tactical decision. I have to admit, I would never have thought to look there...”

He broke off, color already rising in his cheeks, and coughed.

“That is to say, uh - well done for securing our supplies,” he corrected himself. “That was very quick thinking on your part.”

Margot smiled sweetly, and produced the pack.

“Want one?”

Danse swallowed. The idea of partaking of anything which had been pressed so close to Margot's bare thigh seemed almost indecent.

“Perhaps later,” he said weakly, wondering if it was possible to talk without breathing.

“More for me,” said Margot, with a playful little tilt to her lips. She helped herself to one of the sweets – a green one from the top of the roll, twisted up in the wax paper lining. The hem of her skirt dropped neatly back into place, covering her knee once again. “I _love_ the green ones. Mmm- _mmm_.”

 _The green ones_ , thought Danse, feeling a curious tension build up in his chest as he watched her chew. Lime, she'd said. An intense tang of flavor, a little more bitter than its citrus cousins, orange and lemon, but with its own rush of sweetness. He thought of what the flavor might taste like on her lips, then stopped himself. There was no cold water for miles, and there seemed to be no good excuse to rush back to the water pump at the drive-in. He bit the tip of his tongue and tried to forget the idea of lime on lipstick, flashes of stocking, and Pre-War candy which might or might not have been suspiciously warm.

“Quiet out tonight,” Margot remarked, after a few minutes.

Danse noticed that their surroundings had indeed grown quieter; with each step, they seemed to have fallen further and further behind the others, until the sound of loud voices and preposterous Grognak fan theories had become faint on the wind, like the distant shrill of crickets.

“I suppose it is,” he said, very warily; he wondered for a moment if ditching the others and sneaking back to Sanctuary Hills unnoticed was a viable option, but his conscience immediately rebuked him for the idea. Going AWOL and abandoning the other members of his group was hardly conduct becoming of a Minutemen Captain, and it was definitely beneath the high standards that the Brotherhood of Steel expected of its officers. What on earth had driven him to contemplate such selfish, irresponsible behavior?

Whatever it was, it was tugging at his thoughts again, as persistent as a tap on the shoulder or a pull on his sleeve. With each step, it grew harder to ignore, until all he could think about was throwing aside the picnic basket, picking up Margot in his arms, and spiriting her away to some abandoned cabin in the wastes where they could finally be alone...

“What's up, Danse? You look like you're miles away.”

The voice at his side shook Danse out of his daydream of breathless kisses and wandering hands. Heat flared in his face as he glanced at Margot and saw that she was looking up at him with bright, expectant eyes. He opened his mouth to speak and all at once, the words came rushing out:

“I'm sorry, Margot. I know how much you were looking forward to our time together, and that this evening's been something of a disappointment when it comes to romantic pursuits. And I apologize if I've been ungracious about the presence of your friends. It's just that – this wasn't quite what I had in mind for us when we first set out on this excursion. All I wanted was to be alone with you for a little while. So we could enjoy each other's company.”

The sudden, wicked allure of Margot's smile made his face flush even deeper.

“Well, the night's not over yet... and we don't have to stick around. We can always head off on our own. What do you say?”

“What about the others?” said Danse, looking at the road ahead and the shadowy figures in the distance. He started to frown. “Our sudden disappearance might give them cause for concern. We should at least inform them - ”

“I don't think they'll mind if we make our own way home,” Margot informed him. “Our evenings weren't exactly planned to coincide. And now that I think about it, remind me to ask one of them why the hell _we_ weren't invited to the squad movie night… but not right now. It's date night. Come on, let's go!”

“I think it's best if we continue to follow the road, soldier!” Danse warned her, even as she tugged on his arm and attempted to drag him away. “Cross-country travel is generally inadvisable at night. Besides, the Scribes haven't finished mapping this territory. There could be any number of unknown hazards out here.”

“It's okay, I know the way!” Margot insisted, grabbing his hand. “Come on, Danse... don't tell me you aren't interested in a little alone time? Just you and me?”

 _Second base,_ Danse remembered, as a strange hot-and-cold feeling rushed into his chest. The air seemed to be trapped somewhere deep in his lungs, tense and burning; he suddenly felt afraid, excited, and more breathlessly alive than ever. _Oh God._

“Um,” he said, with a little gulp. “I – yes. I think I'd like that.”

“All right then. Follow me!”

Margot let go of his hand and motioned for him to follow her, but before they could break into a run, a voice stopped them in their tracks:

“Hey, Blue, where are you going?”

Margot and Danse both turned around, rather guiltily – Piper had doubled back to check on them, and now the others were returning too, apparently united in their curiosity.

“What is it, Madame?” Curie inquired, over Nick's shoulder. “Is everything all right?”

“You okay, boss?” Deacon chimed in.

“Yeah, you look like you've seen a ghost or something,” MacCready remarked.

“Caught sight of some Bloodbugs out there,” Margot found herself saying, slightly ashamed at how easily the lie came to her lips. “Looks like they might be headed towards the drive-in. And, uh... Danse thinks we should take them out before they can start bothering the settlers,” she added hastily.

“Affirmative,” said Danse gruffly, trying not to cast an aggrieved look in her direction. “It would be tactically advantageous to ensure that all supply routes are secure and that any potential threats in the area have been eliminated, so that civilians can continue to utilize these Pre-War roads to - ”

“All right, Paladin Smart-Arse, no need to deploy the fuckin' dictionary. We get the idea,” said Cait impatiently. “So d'you want a hand with those bugs of yours, or what?”

“No, it's okay, I think we've got this,” Margot said quickly. “Danse and I can take care of those things. You guys head back to Sanctuary Hills without us.”

MacCready and Curie looked silently relieved; Deacon let out a disappointed groan.

“Aww, you mean I don't get to break out the flyswatter? And to think I was considering that second job in pest control... beats delivering newspapers, right?”

“What's wrong with newspapers?” said Piper, with a flare of indignation.

“Hey, I _love_ newspapers,” Deacon responded immediately. “I just prefer to stay out of the headlines. And the obituaries. I'm more into the sports and funny pages. Oh, and the celebrity gossip. Gotta keep up on current affairs, right?”

“Well, all right,” Piper agreed, somewhat mollified. “As long as this isn't an attack on the freedom of the press...”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Deacon said, with a look of perfect innocence. He turned to Margot with a grin. “All right, boss, I guess we'll head on back to base. Just watch your back out there, okay?”

“Indeed, you must be careful!” said Curie, her eyes widening. “Bloodbugs are potential vectors for disease transmission, and a Stimpak may not be sufficient to treat such infections – please be cautious when dealing with them, won't you, Madame? And you too, Monsieur Danse?”

“Thank you for your concern, Curie, but Margot and I are more than capable of handling this situation,” said Danse briskly. “Please ensure that the others get back to Sanctuary Hills safely. We'll report in once we've dealt with those disgusting insects.”

Curie gave him a dutiful salute.

“Absolutely, Monsieur! All right, everyone, _allons-y!_ Back to Sanctuary Hills!”

“Hey, who put you in charge, Robobrain?” Cait complained. “Don't tell me you're taking orders from Captain Cosmos now?”

“But he is not Captain Cosmos!” said Curie. She looked perplexed. “He is Monsieur Danse, is he not?”

“He certainly is,” said Nick, casting a knowing look in their direction; Danse wondered if the old detective knew that he and Margot had less altruistic motives for heading out on their own, although the wink and the suggestive nod that he'd been expecting never came. Instead, the synth paused to straighten his tie, then his fedora, and then announced:

“All right, guys and girls, you heard the lady. Time to hit the road!”

“Don't have to tell me twice,” said MacCready, shuddering. “Bloodbugs. Man, I hate those things... hope we don't run into any on the way back.”

“What's the matter, MacCready? You scared?” Cait teased him.

“What, me?” the mercenary said hotly. “No way! I've killed _dozens_ of those things. Running kinda low on ammo, though. Don't want to waste it on a bunch of stupid bugs, right?”

Cait rolled her eyes dismissively.

“Yeah, sure, MacCready. Whatever you say.”

“Hey, I'm not kidding!” MacCready protested. “I wasted half my bullets on those damn – uh, darn Radscorpions back there. Remind me to stock up at Arturo's when we get back to Diamond City, okay?”

“Good luck with those bugs, Blue! Stay safe!” Piper called out, waving goodbye. “Don't make us come back for you, okay?”

 _Please don't_ , thought Danse, trying not to pull a face at the thought.

“Well, Danse, it looks like that settlement could _really_ use our help,” said Margot, very deliberately, as the others turned to depart. “Come on, let's go take out those bugs! _For the Commonwealth!_ ”

She ran away, leaving the safety of the road again and darting through a bank of long grass. Danse hurried after her, bellowing the Brotherhood's battle-cry as he charged through the undergrowth after her. Before long, he caught up with her; her pace was slowing, and her shoulders were starting to shake - but when Danse put his hand on her arm, Margot turned round and he saw that she was trying hard to keep a straight face.

“Oh, man... I can't believe that actually worked!” she said, starting to laugh helplessly into her own hands. “For a second there, I thought Nick was onto us!”

Danse risked a nervous chuckle.

“I think Valentine may have had his suspicions, although the others appear to have bought into your little prevarication... well played, soldier. Let's just hope your cover story doesn't become a self-fulfilling prophecy. There could be any number of hostile creatures out here now that we're straying away from the road.”

“Nothing that we can't handle,” said Margot confidently. “You and I are unstoppable. Right?”

This time Danse smiled.

“Roger that.”

They took each other's hands and started to walk through the long, dry grass, listening to the _swish_ of dead plant growth against their footwear and the soft trilling of small insects in the distance.

“Well, here we are,” Danse remarked at last. “Just the two of us.”

“About time, right?” said Margot, with a little smirk. “So, Danse, now that we're finally alone… what do you say we go back to your place for a little while?”

Danse felt his heart come crashing to a halt.

“M-my place? Really?” he stammered. “I – I mean, I'm not sure we should – are you sure?”

Margot raised her eyebrows.

“We don't have to if you don't want to. We can always call it a night.”

“No!” said Danse abruptly. “I mean, uh, I don't think that's necessary. There's still plenty of evening left. No need to curtail our time together any sooner than we have to.”

Margot grinned.

“That's the spirit! All right, back to your house. We can have coffee, listen to the radio, and smooch to our hearts' content. No more interruptions.”

 _Sounds like a plan to me,_ thought Danse, as she grabbed his arm once more and led him away from the road, hurrying across rougher terrain. Their footsteps sent the pollen from a clump of unfamiliar flowers fountaining into the air and he heard a few indignant ticks from Margot's Pip-Boy as they ran, hand in hand, through the cloud of dust. He was beginning to wonder if this really was victory, or simply madness – and then realized, starting to laugh, that he didn't care.

_Ad victoriam..._

*

They were bypassing the outskirts of Concord when the weather started to change. Danse looked up and sniffed the air. The sky was clouding over; it was starting to smell like rain, although he guessed that they had a few more minutes before they had to worry about the weather.

As the wind picked up a little and disturbed the evening's still warmth, he saw Margot shiver and rub her arms, and wondered why she hadn't dressed for cooler weather. Flimsy cotton dresses were usually reserved for life in Sanctuary Hills, where shelter and warmth were easily available if the weather were to take a turn for the worse. Still, she was a Pre-War woman, born in an age when people dressed up nicely to go out together, and old habits died hard... and he had to admit that she looked gorgeous.

“Here,” he said suddenly. He stopped, put down the empty basket, and shrugged off his jacket.

Margot opened her mouth to object.

“Danse, it's okay, you don't need to - ”

“You're cold,” he said, more firmly, and draped the bomber jacket around her shoulders. “There.”

The trace of stubbornness died away in Margot's eyes as she wrapped the jacket around her, snuggling down into leather and sheepskin with a small, contented noise and a murmur of thanks. She took his arm and held onto him as he picked up the basket, then smiled and let her head come to rest against his shoulder as they started to walk again.

“How about a story for the rest of the way home?” she said eventually.

Danse thought for a moment.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Cutler and I tried to teach young Arthur Maxson how to make bottle rockets?”

Margot's eyes gleamed.

“Oh, this is going to be a good one. I can tell. Go on...”

Danse launched into the story as they walked up the hill. Soon they were at the outskirts of Sanctuary Hills, but they hardly even noticed their surroundings, or the lights of their home settlement coming into view; Danse was too busy telling Margot how much damage their impromptu science lesson had caused to the Citadel's interior, while she hung onto his arm and his every word.

“... the Scribes never said anything, but I think they all suspected that Chris and Arthur were responsible for the mess,” he finished. “Unfortunately, word somehow got back to Senior Scribe Rothschild and he was _not_ impressed with our little experiment. We spent two days scrubbing the ceiling of the Great Hall, and two more days after that trying to get the plaster out of our hair. We never did find out what happened to the bottlecap.”

Margot laughed.

“I did the same thing back in my junior high science class, with my friend Diana - it was for our science fair project. We were trying to demonstrate that we could power a bottle rocket into lower Earth orbit using only Nuka-Cola and Pep-Up-Mints as fuel for the propulsion system.”

“Could you?” said Danse, intrigued by the possibility.

Margot shook her head as they started to pick their way across the precarious wooden boards of the bridge. They were getting a little too close to the other side of the river, and she knew the guards would be watching; little by little, she loosened her grip on Danse's arm, then let her hand fall to her side.

“I'm afraid not,” she said. “We used too many mints and the bottle exploded all over the auditorium. It wouldn't have been so bad, except it also hit the eighth-graders' miniature fusion project on the next table. The whole building got evacuated and they had to call in a hazmat team to decontaminate the school… the eighth-graders accused us of being Commie infiltrators and one of the teachers even threatened to call the police. Diana couldn't stop crying - I thought we were both going to jail for sure.”

“A situation you couldn't talk your way out of? That's a first for you, soldier,” Danse quipped, as they stepped off the bridge and headed for the security checkpoint.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” said Margot, rolling her eyes. “Luckily our parents managed to talk the principal out of sending us both to juvenile hall… although I guess it was clear by that point that a career in rocket science wasn't going to work out for me. I took my mom's advice and stuck to computers after that. Computers don't usually blow things up – well, not unless you tell them to.”

She glanced at the row of turrets as they passed the sentry posts, and then at the guards standing watch near the bridge. The sentries were smartly dressed in Pre-War Army uniforms and combat armor; both of them saluted respectfully at her approach.

“Good evening, General,” the first greeted her. “Good to have you back.”

“Thanks, Morris,” Margot answered. “Hey - if you see a bunch of misfits heading this way, don't worry, it's just Cait and MacCready and the others. They're going to stay in the barracks tonight, so they don't have to go back to Diamond City in the dark. Please don't shoot them on sight, okay?”

 _No matter how tempting the urge,_ Danse thought, suppressing a sigh. _Although I doubt they'd pay attention to anything as subtle as a warning shot…_

“Understood, ma'am,” the second guard responded, before her colleague could nod his head. “Want me to go tell Preston they're on their way?”

“Appreciate it, Hendricks,” said Margot gratefully. “Make sure there's enough bunks to go round – I don't want anyone sleeping on the floor tonight. But tell Preston that I don't want to be disturbed unless it's an emergency - we're talking Deathclaws, Gunners, killer robots, or _confirmed_ sightings of giant ants. If anything else shows up uninvited, you shoot it, stab it, or tell it to make an appointment.”

“That means no interruptions,” Danse cut in. “None whatsoever. Is that clear, soldier?”

Hendricks nodded, saluted, and hurried away.

“We'll drop off the picnic basket on the way back,” Margot told Danse, as they resumed their journey up the street. “That way I can check in with Codsworth and say goodnight to Shaun.”

“Are you sure Shaun's still up?” Danse responded. “He should probably be in bed by now.”

“He probably is,” Margot agreed. “But I want to check on him anyway.”

Danse nodded.

“Acknowledged. I'll wait for you.”

“No – it's all right,” Margot assured him, taking the picnic basket from his arm. “You go on ahead. I'll only be a minute. Besides, we probably shouldn't be sneaking back to your house together. People might start talking.”

“No need to arouse suspicion,” Danse agreed. “All right. I'll see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay. See you later.”

They almost exchanged a kiss, then remembered, and parted company just short of Margot's house. Danse watched as she hurried up the path, heels clicking on the cracked concrete, and then the door closed behind her.

 _A few minutes_ , he thought, with a touch of anxiety, as he walked back to his own front door. The kind of timespan that lasted seconds, or years, but never minutes. He already missed her; and at the same time, he was desperately trying to remember how you were supposed to progress from kissing to more intimate activities without incurring disciplinary action or a sharp slap in the face. A certain amount of discreet negotiation was probably required.

 _Negotiation isn't exactly my specialist subject,_ he thought, with a little grimace. _Neither is kissing. I'm more used to shouting orders and shooting Ferals in the face. I really hope Margot knows what she's doing, because I sure as hell don't…_

He sighed, and let the front door close behind him.

*

Codsworth was waiting in the kitchen when Margot arrived; he turned around at the sound of the front door closing, and his eye sensors immediately perked up at the sight of her.

“Hello there, mum! Good to have you home! How was your evening with Knight-Captain Danse?”

Margot smiled and set down the picnic basket on the dining table.

“Not quite over yet. Just bringing this back - thanks again for the picnic. Where _did_ you find the basket, by the way? Don't tell me you went all the way to the Robotics Pioneer Park to look for it after Nate and I forgot it that one time...?”

“I'm afraid not, mum,” said Codsworth. He sounded slightly embarrassed. “I, uh, took the liberty of purchasing one from a passing trader one day, in the hope that you and sir might return from the Vault and wish to go out on excursions again. Incidentally, I apologize for breaking into your old bottlecap collection to pay for the purchase – I know you and sir were hoping to redeem them for one of those Nuka-Cola wall clocks, but I'm afraid the locals were refusing to accept Pre-War currency by that stage. It was that or let them take what remained of the silverware, and that was simply - ”

“Don't worry about it, Codsworth,” Margot interrupted him. “Is Shaun okay?”

“Fast asleep, mum,” the robot reported, at a slightly lower volume. “Incidentally, we've finished _Treasure Island_. He's asked for _The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood_ next.”

“Oh,” said Margot, crestfallen. “You guys are done with that already? I was hoping I could finish reading it to him tomorrow. I feel like I'm neglecting my maternal storytelling duties...”

“No need to fret, mum,” said Codsworth, whisking away the picnic basket and sorting through the contents. “Master Shaun was eager to get to the end and said he didn't mind if I read to him in your place - although he did insist on a recap of _Grognak the Barbarian_ once you returned! I assured him that you would be able to provide a full account of Mr. Grognak's adventures in the morning. You enjoyed the film, I trust?”

“Kind of,” Margot said cautiously. “We, uh... had an unexpected visit from the others. They showed up at the drive-in and made themselves comfortable, and I didn't have the heart to say anything. They all seemed so excited about the movie. Especially Curie.”

“Ah, Mademoiselle Curie,” said Codsworth wistfully. He set aside the empty boxes, one by one. “I do hope she and the others are doing well - although I can't help but feel for Knight-Captain Danse. I imagine that friends dropping in unannounced must have put rather a dampener on proceedings.”

Margot pulled a face.

“That's one way of putting it. I'm going to head on over to his house for a little while, so we can spend some time together. Alone this time. I was kind of hoping he and I could – um...”

She stifled a sudden giggle, then leaned over to the robot and whispered, as if she were confessing some scandalous secret to a matronly aunt:

“ _Make out.”_

Codsworth gave a start, and almost dropped one of the empty Nuka-Cola bottles.

“Really? My goodness, mum, you two _are_ getting along famously! Why, if this keeps up, I think I might just see you dressed up in your wedding gown after all!”

Margot laughed awkwardly.

“Oh, Codsworth, you old romantic. You're just as bad as Shaun, you know that?”

“How so, mum?” said the robot politely.

This time, Margot sighed. It was a quiet noise, but with a tinge of melancholy; she found herself suddenly reminded of her wedding day and the sadly-sweet memories of Nate, and then the thought of Danse, dutiful and conscientious to a fault; she envisioned him fretting endlessly over the ethical conundrum of whether synths could or should get married, and what Elder Maxson and the Brotherhood might think of such a notion.

“Don't get me wrong, Codsworth, it's not that I object to the idea,” she said, trying to smile. “Danse is a great guy, and I love him. I really do. But I can't see the Brotherhood of Steel being too pleased about one of their Paladins eloping with a synth. I think that might raise eyebrows even in Diamond City.”

“Stranger things happen in the Commonwealth every day, mum,” Codsworth pointed out. “I wouldn't rule out the possibility too soon, if I were you! Now were you going to check on Master Shaun, or would you like me to make sure he's still properly tucked in?”

“No, it's okay. I'll check on him.”

“Right-o, mum. Do call if you need anything!”

Margot left him tidying away the remnants of the picnic and went down the corridor to Shaun's room, taking care to soften her footsteps as she stopped at the open doorway.

It had been a nursery, once, long ago; a place of soft pastel colors, gentle lullabies, and sunshine streaming in through the blinds. She'd seen it furnished with all the love and care that two expectant parents could give, and then reduced to ruins by war and time. Her heart had broken at the sight of glassless windows, broken wooden slats on a grimy crib mattress, and toys trodden in the dust by scavengers who'd had no use for sentimental value; she'd never thought that one room could have contained so many bittersweet memories, or so much grief. But now it belonged to her little boy again, and her friends had brought him furniture from every corner of the Commonwealth, because they'd all agreed that Shaun needed a room of his own.

Despite her initial fears that he might turn it into a miniature Institute by filling it with scientific equipment, the room's contents were reassuringly typical for a child of ten. Colorful images of the Silver Shroud and the Unstoppables shared the walls with a poster of Mr. Pebbles, the first cat in space (a present from the Railroad, covertly delivered to the mailbox by a runner one night and enthusiastically pinned up by its new owner the next morning) and a mysteriously-pristine advertisement from the D.C. Museum of Technology ( _that_ one had been a gift from Deacon, although the story of how he'd come to lay hands on it was almost certainly fictitious). The shelves were laden with comic books and children's stories, and while Shaun's new desk was strewn with tools, old copies of _Tesla Science,_ and bits and pieces of the hot plate he was currently dismantling, there were more conventional toys on display too – a baseball and catcher's mitt, a rocketship, model robot kits, the pristine Nuka-Cola truck that she'd found untouched on a merchant's shelf, and a little wooden racecar, its faded teal-and-yellow paint deftly refreshed with a few strokes of Sturges' paintbrush.

Shaun's favorite possession, however, was undoubtedly Mr. Bear. The faded teddy with dull glass eyes and a weary sort of smile had once belonged to a much younger Shaun, and after she'd found him abandoned in a dusty corner of the room, Margot had taken the toy everywhere on her travels, hoping to reunite him with his owner. For almost two years, she'd carried the worn stuffed animal in her pack, until Mr. Bear finally found his way back to the arms of a small boy named Shaun, who'd greeted the bear like an old friend. They'd been inseparable at bedtime ever since; even now, the bear was resting on the pillow next to Shaun, his ever-watchful guardian.

“Goodnight, Shaun,” Margot whispered, and leaned down to kiss the sleeping boy's forehead. “Love you lots. I'll be back soon, okay?”

Shaun responded with a soft mumbling noise and turned over, dark hair tousling a little more on the comfy pillow. Margot smiled again, and stood up to leave the room.

She heard a few soft ticking sounds as she stepped back into the hallway; she glanced at her Pip-Boy, only to see that the rad-meter's needle hadn't moved an inch. When the noise grew a little faster and louder, Margot looked up, confused, until she realized that the sound was coming from the roof.

“Oh, bother. I _thought_ it was starting to look like rain,” Codsworth called out, in tones of faint dismay. “Make sure you take an umbrella with you, mum!”

The world seemed determined to rain on her parade at every possible opportunity, Margot thought, with a small sigh. But she was damned if a little inclement weather was going to keep her from Danse, who was probably waiting patiently for her to join him. She walked back through to the living room and grabbed the faded purple umbrella from the stand next to the front door.

“Got it. Later, Codsworth...”

“Until later, mum,” said the robot chirpily. “Mind how you go – and if Knight-Captain Danse should engage in any ungentlemanly behavior this evening, you give him a good whack with that umbrella and tell him you won't stand for that sort of nonsense! Or come and tell me, and I'll give him what for! There won't be any unwelcome advances on _my_ watch!”

“Don't worry, Codsworth, I think I can handle this,” Margot told him, maintaining her gravest expression while doing her best not to laugh. If anyone had any cause to be nervous about Danse's behavior, it was surely Danse himself; she still wasn't sure how clear he was in his understanding of baseball terminology, or how it might usefully be applied to the mysterious world of romance. “I'll be home soon. Probably.”

 _Unless things go really well and he asks me to stay,_ she thought, heart pounding, as she put up the umbrella and headed back out into the rain-soaked night. _Let's see how this thing plays out..._

*

Danse stared at the reflection in the bathroom mirror, half-listening to the sound of the radio in the next room. The glass had dulled with age, he thought, although the eyes of the man looking back at him thankfully hadn't. They were the same warm brown they'd always been, although they were a little wider tonight, full of hope and anxiety, as though they still belonged to the youth who'd signed on with the Brotherhood of Steel in search of adventure, glory, and finding family among friends.

It was funny, what Margot did to him. While her inclination to act on impulse occasionally filled him with terror, there was something exhilarating about being by her side; he thought of the way she'd grabbed him and pulled him along after her, laughing as they ran through the overgrown grass, and how young and carefree he'd felt in her company. He wasn't sure how long had it been since he'd ditched an obligation in favor of fun, or thought of anything else except the Brotherhood and its needs. All he knew was that each time he caught sight of her, he fell in love anew; every moment he spent by her side was joy itself, and every part of him longed to be near her again.

Why, then, was he suddenly so nervous about the fact that she was on her way?

Danse picked up the comb from the side of the sink and started to run it through his hair again, but stopped when he found it trembling in his hands. Irritated, he put it down and glared at his reflection.

“This is ridiculous,” he scolded himself. “What are you worrying about? She's not going to stand you up. She's probably on her way here right now. Get it together, soldier!”

The face in the glass glowered back at him, all scars and sullen eyebrows; exasperated, Danse turned away from the bathroom mirror and let out a sigh. He could hear rain hissing and spitting on the asphalt outside; the gurgle of hastily-restored gutters, and the cadence of raindrops on the roof. Beneath the faint pattering of rain was the low, resentful grumble of the generator outside the window, and a more distant sound which might have been thunder. He wondered what would happen if the generator were to short out in the rainstorm. Would Margot object to sitting in the gloom while he rummaged through cupboards for candles?

 _Probably not_ , whispered the part of him which was still quietly craving the taste of Gum Drops. _Her recollections of candlelit dinners at home with her spouse seemed to be fond ones. And at least we'd finally be alone together. Like the first time we were here..._

Danse closed his eyes and immersed himself in the memory. A few feet away, and a few short days ago, they'd stood in the hallway together and exchanged timid admissions of love - awkward words which had kept their lips apart at first, and then brought them closer together than he'd ever thought possible…

He was starting to smile at the recollection when he heard the sound of hurrying footsteps, and then a sharp little knock on the door.

“ _Hey, Danse!”_

Danse's eyes shot open.

“Margot,” he said to himself, and rushed from the room.

He almost tripped on a loose linoleum tile in the hall in his haste to get to the front door, then bumped into a dining chair, trying not to tangle his feet in its legs.

“Damn it... hold on a second – I'm coming!” he called, shoving the chair aside and running to the door.

As he turned the doorknob, he was hit with the smell of wood shavings and freshly-applied paint, and then the scent of a rainy Commonwealth night, all wet undergrowth and damp air. All of them paled in comparison to the subtle floral fragrance which clung to the figure in front of him. Margot was standing on the doorstep, with his bomber jacket still draped around her shoulders; she was looking shyly up at him from beneath a dripping umbrella.

“Hey,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Mind if I come in?”

Danse had spent several minutes standing in front of the mirror, trying to work out what he'd say when he saw her again. He'd come up with a few carefully-chosen words, but they abandoned him at the last moment; he mumbled something entirely inadequate instead, and took her hand to lead her out of the rain.

As Margot folded the umbrella and put it in the corner of the room, apologizing for the water she'd dripped all over the floor, Danse remembered that he'd brewed some coffee in preparation for her visit. He went over to pick up the tarnished coffee pot and set out a couple of worn ceramic coffee mugs. When she turned to hang up the borrowed jacket, however, he found himself admiring her from afar.

_I wonder if she knows how lovely she is... I don't think I could have dreamed up anyone as wonderful as her. I only wish I could find the right words to tell her how I -_

“Danse!”

Danse looked down and saw two overflowing mugs, and a counter swimming with hot coffee; he hurriedly put down the coffee pot and snatched up a dishrag before the liquid could spill over the edge of the counter. He looked up again from his frantic mopping to see Margot trying to conceal a smile.

“Need a hand?” she offered.

“No, it's fine – my apologies. Here.”

He brought over the pair of mugs, one in each hand, and provided one to her as she sat down neatly on the couch. Margot thanked him and leaned forward to put it on the coffee table; he did the same, and sat down beside her.

“Looking a little distracted there, big guy,” she commented, placing the packet of Gum Drops on the table beside her mug. “What's on your mind?”

“You,” Danse said immediately. “These days, I find it hard to think about anything else.”

Margot's smile broadened.

“Any particular reason why you're thinking about me?”

Danse tried not to lose his cool. The only thing he could bring to mind was that in Cole Porter's time, a modest glimpse of stocking had been a source of moral panic, and he was starting to see why. The sight of nude-colored lace and bare thigh had shocked him to his core, and so had the shameful little thrill it had sent up his arms and spine, but there was no way he could possibly admit to anything of that nature; he searched instead for safer, more familiar territory.

“I hope you weren't offended by my reaction earlier. When the others showed up.”

Margot shrugged.

“This is the Commonwealth,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee and cupping her hand underneath the dripping mug. “People I know show up unannounced all the time. And they're my friends - I couldn't exactly tell them to take a hike. It's not like they knew we were going to be there. If they'd known we were going on a date, they wouldn't have shown up to ruin it on purpose.”

“Hmm,” said Danse, rather darkly. “That might be true in Piper and Valentine's case, and Curie's too, but frankly, I have my doubts about the others.”

“Don't mind MacCready,” said Margot gently. She set the mug down again and put her hand on his arm. “He misses his wife – and I think he gets a little jealous when he sees other couples together. I used to be the same way after I lost Nate. I'd look at happy couples in Diamond City and resent the living hell out of them because they were happy and together, while I was miserable and alone, and I knew it wasn't supposed to be that way. I felt as though I'd been robbed of something that should have been mine, you know?”

“And Cait?”

“She likes trying to get a reaction out of people. Going on the offensive means she doesn't have to be on the defensive all the time. I've been in her shoes too. Making people more uncomfortable than you are works... sometimes.”

“Is that the strategy you use on Arthur?” said Danse, raising his eyebrows. “I was starting to wonder why you derive so much apparent amusement from trying to embarrass him.”

“Hey, I'm saying nothing until my lawyer gets here,” said Margot mildly, without so much as a twitch in her facial expression.

“You might be in for a long wait,” Danse observed. “I think you're the last lawyer in the Commonwealth.”

Margot laughed.

“No kidding. Maybe I should start practicing law again. If only I had my diploma...”

 _I'm working on it,_ Danse wanted to say. _In fact, I have someone scouring the Commonwealth for it even as we speak. I only hope he doesn't deliver it in person. Even now, I think the sight of a Courser in Sanctuary Hills might cause some sort of mass panic among the settlers._

Instead, he picked up his coffee and waited for Margot to speak. She didn't; she picked up her own mug and smiled at him. The silence between them grew and deepened, until the sound of nothing at all became an unbearable agony.

“I - ”

“So - ”

They stopped, realizing that they'd both interrupted each other, and laughed awkwardly. Margot shook her head.

“Sorry. You first,” she told him.

“No, it's all right. You first.”

“No, really. What were you going to say?”

To his horror, Danse realized that he didn't know what he'd been trying to say. A quiet, desperate scrabble for words only managed to turn up the following:

“I was hoping you could... uh... tell me three more things I don't know about you.”

It was a stupid request; one which made him groan inwardly, instantly regretting how childish it must have sounded to her ears. But to his relief, Margot's laugh was an amused sound instead of a dismissive chortle.

“Our favorite game, huh? Okay. My favorite Fancy Lads Snack Cakes are the ones with the blue frosting on top. Nate used to drag me along to rehearsals when he and his college buddies joined the musical theater group, so I know all the songs in _HMS Pinafore_ off by heart. And when I was ten, I prank-called the Mayor's office pretending to be the Queen of England.”

Danse's eyebrows shot up again.

“I see your lack of respect for authority figures commenced at an early age. Did it work?”

Margot laughed over the edge of her mug.

“No, I'm afraid my attempts to have the people of Boston accept me as their sovereign ruler didn't really work out. My English accent was _terrible_ – that, and my mom caught me mid-phone call. She spent ten minutes apologizing to the Mayor's secretary and grounded me for a week.”

“You were fortunate not to have been punished more severely,” Danse said disapprovingly, as she put the mug back down again. “Impersonating a head of state for personal political gain is behavior unbecoming of an officer, to say the very least. That course of action was highly inappropriate.”

Margot rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Your turn.”

Danse pondered the available options for a moment or two.

“Not long after I joined the Brotherhood, one of the Knights in my company informed me that there was a radio station in the Mojave which played country-and-western music from before the Great War,” he began at last. “After losing a bet with him, he talked me into sneaking down to the Scribes' offices after lights-out and playing a prank on them. I decided to use one of the terminals to send a message to the Brotherhood's bunker in Hidden Valley, asking if they could send me a holotape with a few songs. I stated that it was for cultural research purposes, and signed it as “Scribe Danse”. They never replied.”

Margot paused, with her coffee mug halfway to her mouth, and started to giggle. Danse had told her before that he liked country music, and she'd teased him for his preference in a region which had always preferred the hearty sounds of big-band jazz to the metallic twang of guitars and banjos. And yet, looking at the solid, dependable man in the flannel shirt and jeans, she could imagine him singing cheerful cowboy ditties about life on the open range as he trekked along empty desert roads – or in a garage somewhere in the Southwest, late at night, listening to mournful country ballads on the radio as he worked on an old truck beneath the soft glow of electric lights. Impersonating a Scribe, however... she never would have guessed that young Danse would have been capable of such a thing.

“Maybe you should have mailed it!” she said, still giggling. “Or entrusted it to that Brotherhood courier you were telling me about! Then you could've had a reply and listened to the Everly Brothers to your heart's content.”

“If only the notion had occurred to me,” Danse said, with a little smile. “Who knows, it might even have worked.”

“Maybe,” said Margot, grinning. “So what else have you got for me, Scribe Danse?”

Danse cringed a little as he put down his coffee.

“No need for that, Paladin... well, despite the mixed reviews from the locals, I rather enjoy listening to the Charles River Trio and their radio plays. I was particularly moved by their rendition of _King Lear_. I wouldn't mind meeting Rex Goodman one of these days.”

“Remind me to introduce you next time we're in the neighborhood – I'm sure he'd be happy to give you his autograph,” said Margot. She put down the mug again, and leaned back into the cushions. “So what's the third thing?”

Danse rubbed the back of his neck, and lowered his eyes.

“I realize that this will probably sound foolish,” he admitted, very sheepishly. “But when you came after me that day, and told me how you felt about – well, about _us_ – I was glad. More than glad. I'll cherish that moment for the rest of my life. But there was something about it which still bothers me a little. Well, not _bothers_ , exactly. It just… didn't go entirely according to plan.”

“Oh?” said Margot, surprised. “What's that?”

She looked across at him and saw his eyes soften; at the same time, Danse felt his heartbeat abruptly change its pace.

“I wish I'd told you before, Margot,” he confessed. “I… I should have been the first to say it.”

“To say what?”

She was looking at him with eyes that burned like stars in the dark; as he held her face in his hands, all he could think about was the way his heart seemed to swell up in his chest at the sight of her, and how utterly she filled his world.

“I love you,” he said simply, and moved closer.

He caught a fleeting hint of lime on her lipstick as he kissed her, but forgot it instantly as she brought her arms up around his shoulders and kissed him back, pressing his lips into hers until they parted. He tasted lime again, this time on her tongue, and wondered how it was possible for anything in the world to taste so sweet. At last, Margot broke away from the kiss and murmured in his ear:

“I've been waiting all night for that kiss.”

“Me too,” Danse murmured back.

Margot laughed softly and kissed him again, letting her fingers run through his hair. Danse closed his eyes and breathed her in, letting her perfume and the smell of her hair fill his lungs until kisses replaced his breath entirely. It was like drowning, he thought, but the desire to break free and surface wasn't there; if anything, he longed to be pulled beneath the waves, locked in an embrace that would hold him captive the way dreams did until morning. He'd worried all evening about how to reach out and hold her; now his only concern was how he could possibly let her go again.

“I love you, Danse,” he heard her whisper against his cheek, between breaths.

“And I love _you_ ,” he told her firmly.

It had sounded more like a retort than he'd intended, but Margot giggled.

“Yeah? Well, I love you more.”

Danse smiled against her mouth.

“I wasn't aware it was a competition.”

“If it is, you know I'll win,” Margot informed him, her lips brushing lightly against his.

Danse grinned.

“We'll see about that...”

He lunged forward for another kiss, knocking her onto her back. Margot let out a little shriek – part laughter, part surprise – as she found her face being covered in kisses, followed by a little groan of delight as the kisses reached her jawline, then dropped down to her neck and shoulder.

“Danse,” she sighed, but even as the name escaped her lips, she found another name surfacing, borne on a tide of memories...

… _Nate._ They'd kissed like this on the couch so many times; affectionate, longing kisses between teenage sweethearts, then college students, then newlyweds. She remembered the way Nate used to kiss her neck and murmur that he wanted her; the rush of passion as they fumbled to undo each other's clothes and get closer, and then the feel of his hands against her skin, soft and warm.

 _This was how it always used to start,_ she thought, suddenly nervous, as Danse paused in his pursuit of kisses and their eyes connected. _How we used to end up in bed together, late at night. But Nate's gone. I don't know how this is supposed to go any more. Damn it, I should have put on some nicer underwear. Or at least taken off my wedding ring. Should I even be doing this? Is it too soon? Maybe I shouldn't -_

But when Danse smiled down at her, Margot found herself smiling back up at him. There was something warm and loving in his gaze which wrapped itself around her heart, and before it occurred to her to do anything else, she was reaching up to kiss him again.

_Maybe I shouldn't. But oh God, I want to…_

She pulled the flannel shirt from Danse's shoulders, then caught the untucked edge of his undershirt and let her fingertips brush the warm skin underneath. He shuddered a little at the touch, and kissed her neck again, lips lingering on her collarbone.

“One more thing you don't know about me, Danse,” she murmured.

“What -” Danse began, but she was already pulling the undershirt over his head. The holotags around his neck caught in the fabric, then swung free as she tossed the crumpled shirt aside and let it drop carelessly onto the floor. He looked at her, startled.

“Margot?”

“Ever since I saw you in the back yard, I've been hoping to get another look at you with your shirt off,” she told him. “You know what, I think you're even more handsome up close. I think I might just hold onto you forever and never let you go...”

Danse smiled suddenly.

“I think I might hold you to that,” he murmured, kissing her cheek.

“I hope you do,” said Margot softly.

She brought her lips up to meet his and felt warmth flood her body again as he wrapped his arms around her. She'd almost forgotten how it felt to kiss with such fierce, passionate intensity; to hold herself tightly against someone else and feel the heat of their skin beneath her fingers. But she'd missed that sense of closeness; the urgent desire to get closer still; the quiet but fervent hope that if they stayed exactly the way they were and held onto each other for long enough, the night might never have to end.

_Don't ever let me go, Danse..._

She heard Danse sigh against her mouth, and opened her eyes to see that his were happily closed. For a moment, he seemed lost in his contentment, but then he opened his eyes and smiled, and said:

“My sweetheart.”

Margot felt herself falling in love all over again in that instant; it was the sweetest, most helpless, hopeless feeling she'd ever known, and she thought it had died long ago with Nate, but here it was again, grabbing her straight by the heart and pulling her back into that happy sense of delirium. This time, she decided, she was never going to snap out of it. She'd lose herself in this feeling forever, and wrap herself up in Danse's arms and the bliss of being in love with him for the rest of her life.

“My darling,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

She closed her eyes and kissed him again, tangling her fingers in his hair and then sighing as he kissed her lips, then her neck and shoulders. Her hands traveled down his back, down to his waist; she almost expected a yelp of alarm, but instead the kisses became a little more ardent, and one of his hands came to rest against her shoulder -

Margot's eyes opened sharply as she felt his hand press against skin instead of cotton. A surreptitious sideways glance confirmed her suspicion that her dress was askew; one sleeve was starting to slip down her shoulder.She made a small, awkward shrugging movement, hoping to nudge it back into place before he noticed the hint of exposed bra strap. Danse, however, happened to open his eyes at exactly the wrong time, and immediately blushed.

“Whoops,” he said, hurriedly moving to adjust the sleeve of her dress. “Excuse me, Margot. I should have been more careful.”

His attempt to move the fabric back into place only served to knock the top button loose of its buttonhole; Danse looked even more flustered, and hurried to refasten it.

“Damn it...”

“Danse, it's okay - ”

He was still fumbling with the button, frantically apologizing as he struggled to reunite it with its buttonhole.

“I'm so sorry. I hope you didn't think I intended to - ”

“Danse,” Margot repeated, rather more insistently. “It's okay.”

“But - ”

She silenced his attempt at an apology with a quick, fierce little kiss, and then a much longer one, until at last he surrendered and melted back into her arms, returning her kisses with a new and almost feverish enthusiasm, as though that brief glimpse of lingerie had suddenly unearthed years of long-buried passion. She glanced up from the kiss, pausing to draw breath, and saw that he was staring at her with a desperate sort of longing in his eyes.

_Why don't we just say it? That we want each other? I know he's too shy to ask, but I can't just ask him either. That isn't how any of this works. We have to mind our manners and let things happen gradually, because dating is stupid, and -_

“Margot?” Danse said at last.

“Yeah?”

He cleared his throat nervously. He was still toying a little with the loose button, as though he didn't quite know what to do about the situation.

“I, uh… that baseball thing you were talking about earlier? Did you still want to…?”

The question hung hopefully in the air, as faint and tentative as breath on a cold morning; it was followed by a vaguely worried expression, as if he suspected that he might have overstepped some unseen, unspoken boundary.

 _Oh thank God,_ thought Margot, trying not to sigh with relief. _I thought he'd never ask..._

“Is that what you want?” she said, very gently.

Danse's ears were going red again and color was starting to rise in his face, but he managed a small, shy nod in spite of his embarrassment. Margot felt something tender and heartfelt blossom in her chest, and started to smile.

“Me too… I think you're on the wrong track with those buttons, though.”

Danse looked puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

Margot gave him her most seductive smile, and murmured:

“You're supposed to do it like _this_...”

She moved his hand aside, and watched his eyes widen as his clumsy attempt at fastening her dress came undone beneath her fingers; Danse's eyes grew wider still as she moved down to the next button and undid that too. His mouth opened a little at the sight of her open dress, then closed; she saw the slight bob of his throat as he swallowed, and wondered if he was about to faint.

“You okay?” she said.

Danse was fairly sure he looked as overwhelmed as he felt by seeing his beloved Paladin in a state of undress, but he nodded anyway, and reached out to hold her again. She responded with another kiss, and he felt the half-formed worries on his lips dissolving, melting like ice at the touch of her mouth. He'd never felt so warm; overheated, in fact, desperate for air and cold water, and yet all the wealth of the world couldn't have tempted him to move from his perch. The sounds of rain and the radio were so impossibly distant that they no longer mattered; nothing did, except the breathless way she was kissing him, and the feel of her hands against his chest and back, the warmth of her palms pressed close against his skin.

He tried to follow her movements, returning each gesture in kind, although his attempts at physical affection felt embarrassingly clumsy in comparison to her effortless caresses. She smiled beneath his kisses anyway, and murmured something which he didn't quite hear, but which sounded vaguely encouraging.

Very tentatively, he started to kiss her again, then loosened his hold on her and let one hand move up gingerly toward her chest. Questing fingers found curves concealed beneath cotton, before Margot gently interrupted his progress.

“Here,” she told him. “Try this...”

She tucked his hand neatly inside her dress; it came to rest against lace and underwiring, but she made another subtle adjustment to her wardrobe. Danse's eyes opened wide as he felt bare skin beneath his fingers, and he turned to look at her in astonishment.

“Oh,” he said softly.

He looked down at her bright eyes and parted lips, and then his hand, which was still cupping one soft and exquisitely warm breast. For a few moments, the perfect stillness between them was undisturbed; the awkward, delicate intimacy lingered and remained. And then, at last, Margot smiled and laid her hand on top of his.

“There you go. Second base.”

Danse opened his mouth to speak, but found words wanting. Nothing in the world could possibly have described how it felt to find himself in one of his most passionate and hopeless dreams, or to express his sense of quiet wonder at having been allowed to lay hands on her like this. He knew in an instant that this was something that would endure in his memory - another moment of perfect tenderness, as cherished and secret and precious as their first kiss, to be held close to his heart and never forgotten.

“That was… wow,” he managed.

Margot's laughter was a soft, affectionate noise.

“Glad you liked it.”

Danse debated whether or not to let go and refasten her dress; the part of him which still remembered things like decorum was sternly rebuking him for his impropriety, while the rest reminded him that he was off-duty, and that Margot especially seemed to enjoy being kissed on the neck. He wavered between the two possibilities, uncertain how to proceed.

“So… what now?” he said.

Margot took his other hand and placed it carefully on her thigh.

“Well, we could always try for third. What do you say?”

Danse started to tremble at the thought of it. There would be buttons, and stockings, and more underwear… or more accurately, there wouldn't. Instead there would be intimate kisses, moaned words, hastily-removed clothes. They'd end up on his bed, or in it, and that would lead to the kind of reckless, passionate behavior he'd always prided himself on avoiding - although now that he stopped to consider the matter, he was really starting to wonder why. Steering clear of the kind of temptation which led less responsible men into trouble was one thing, of course, but when he was in the company of someone he profoundly trusted, and it felt so good to be held, and touched, and kissed…

_Oh God, yes..._

He was about to whisper a response when a colossal hammering sound broke through the hush, overpowering the faint music on the radio and turning soft breathing into startled gasps; they sat up sharply, and looked over their shoulders as the door rattled in its frame.

“Oh _hell_ no,” said Margot shortly, laying a hand on Danse's shoulder before he could open his mouth to wonder aloud who that might have been. “No, we are not having our evening interrupted again. Whoever it is, they can go and bother Preston for once. Ignore them and they'll go away.”

“Roger that,” said Danse. He couldn't quite shake the nagging feeling that it was odd to have visitors at this time of night, but he did his best to ignore the knock at the door and turned back to kiss Margot again -

Another knock, this time longer and more insistent, interrupted him before he could reach her lips. Danse let out a deep growl of displeasure and started to get up. Margot caught him by the arm before he could leave.

“Danse, please,” she pleaded. “Don't answer it, okay? Just pretend we're not in...”

Danse seemed to be giving considerable thought to the idea of returning to the couch and his girlfriend's arms, but then another thunderous knocking came at the door, threatening to break down the wood entirely. This time, it was accompanied by a voice:

“ _Knight-Captain Danse? Sir? Are you there?”_

There was no ignoring that, Danse realized, with a sinking heart. He gave in, and went to the front door.

“I'm sick and tired of being disturbed when I'm at home trying to relax,” Margot muttered, as he passed her. “This had better not be one of the settlers complaining about something that can wait until morning. If there's a Brahmin stuck on somebody's roof and they're insisting it's your problem, please tell them to fuck off.”

“Suggestion duly noted,” said Danse curtly.

He opened the door. A young man in a Scribe's outfit was standing on the doorstep; his eyes widened in surprise as he found himself faced with a tall, shirtless and very irate Brotherhood officer.

“What is it, soldier?” Danse barked.

The Scribe gulped, and took a step back, almost tripping over the sunken edge of the doorstep.

“Uh, Knight-Captain Danse? Scribe Rissel, Recon Squad Medusa,” he introduced himself, with a nervous salute. “I – I'm sorry to disturb you at home, sir. Colonel Garvey advised me that you and Paladin de Havilland were taking some personal leave this evening and that you weren't to be disturbed.”

“Then would you mind telling me why you're disregarding his instructions, Scribe?” Danse said, eyes narrowing. “Why are you in Sanctuary Hills? You're supposed to be stationed at Cambridge Police Station with the rest of your squad.”

“Yes, sir. But Knight Foster and I were dispatched to find you and Paladin de Havilland. You're needed at the television station right away. The _Claymore_ 's waiting on the other side of the bridge – she'll take us there.”

Danse's forehead furrowed.

“The television station? At this time of night? Why?”

Scribe Rissel shook his head.

“No idea, sir. But Elder Maxson is there and he asked for you to report in immediately. He – he didn't say why, sir. I was just told to come and find you. Knight Foster went to Paladin de Havilland's house to look for her, but her robot said she wasn't there. Is she with you, sir?”

“ _No, I'm not!”_ Danse heard Margot snarl from inside the house. _“Fuck off!”_

Scribe Rissel's eyebrows shot up; Danse merely sighed.

“Yes, she's here. Paladin? Scribe Rissel says that we need to report in immediately. Elder Maxson's orders.”

“ _Elder Maxson can go - ”_ Margot began.

“No, Paladin, he cannot,” said Danse wearily. He sighed again, briefly pinched the bridge of his nose, then returned his attention to the man on the doorstep. “All right, Scribe. Tell Knight Foster we'll be there in a few minutes. We need to suit up and grab our gear.”

Scribe Rissel shook his head again.

“No time, sir. Elder Maxson says he wants to see you immediately!”

Danse scowled.

“I am _not_ reporting for duty to our Elder in my current state,” he said stiffly. “You will give me five minutes to make myself presentable and put my uniform on, and then we will rendezvous with you at the _Claymore._ Tell Lancer-Sergeant Hadley to prepare for dustoff in T minus five. Understood?”

“A-acknowledged, sir. I'll tell him you and the Paladin will be there shortly. _Ad victoriam_.”

The Scribe ran off before Danse could return the salute, tearing through the rain. Danse strained to listen and heard the far-off whine of a Vertibird on standby; the Scribe's report was apparently accurate. He let out another, wearier sigh, and shut the door behind him.

“Looks like we're reporting in,” he informed her regretfully. “You'd better go back to your place and change. I don't think Elder Maxson would approve of your current attire.”

“Damn it,” said Margot, her voice dropping to something dark and bitter. “So much for date night. I was hoping it wouldn't have to end so soon.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault,” she said, hurrying to rebutton her dress. She got up from the couch, smoothed down her skirt, and gave him a hurried little peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Danse. I'll see you in five, okay?”

“Acknowledged. See you there.”

She hurried out of the door; Danse watched her run through the rain, silently marveling at how his luck could simultaneously be so good and so bad, then remembered himself and hurried into the next room to change into his uniform.

Within three minutes, he'd exchanged his jeans for a fresh uniform and some body armor; he turned the radio and lights off, and grabbed his jacket and laser rifle on his way out of the door. A moment later, he doubled back to grab the pack of Gum Drops from the table, and then the front door slammed shut again.

Silence and darkness fell on the house as a Vertibird's engines prepped for takeoff in the distance. The whining of the rotors rose to a scream, and then faded. But there was a small sound in the corner of the room, and then a sudden light; a rounded square of static on the screen of a disused television set gradually formed the picture of man in his twenties. Neat and dark-haired, with his uniform's colors dulled to a television's monochrome, he cleared his throat and saluted an invisible audience, before announcing:

“ _People of the Commonwealth. This is Knight-Captain Joseph Ellens of the Brotherhood of Steel. We apologize for the recent technical difficulties and hope to restore normal service soon. Please stand by for more information...”_

The television turned off again abruptly, and light faded in the darkness. Little by little, the coffee on the table grew cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good grief, this chapter gave me hell and so did life generally. Sorry for the long time between chapters, everyone. Hope the end product turned out to be worth the wait. I may tweak this a little more before it's definitely-completely done, depending on how I feel when I look at it again in the morning (it's 1am at the time of posting).
> 
> I couldn't resist the idea of Deacon (who can keep literally any other secret) being Spoiler King of the Universe, as well as a massive pop-culture geek. I guess he has to have some kind of outlet to blurt out things he should keep to himself, or he'd go crazy...
> 
> The Claymore is the canon name for the Vertibird parked on the roof of the Cambridge Police Station, should you choose to proceed down the Railroad questline. In light of the events of Blind Betrayal, I've chosen to assume that Rhys and Haylen were reassigned to the Prydwen either shortly before or shortly after Margot's promotion, and that a new team, Recon Squad Medusa, were sent to the police station to take over from Recon Squad Gladius. More of which later...


	20. Back to the Studio

**Chapter 20  
Back to the Studio**

Raindrops hurled themselves angrily against glass and steel as the _Claymore_ flew through the storm. Margot looked up, shuddering at the crack of water hitting the windshield at high speed, and thought of slumped bodies, and blood on the controls.

_Dad. Durendal..._

She shook her head in sorrow, then looked down at her PipBoy. The thunder's deepening booms and the faint shimmer on the horizon indicated that they were getting close to the Commonwealth's southwestern corner, or at least as far southwest as the PipBoy's map extended. Right now, they were somewhere near Vault 95.

Vault 95. She remembered that place all too well, along with the wave of nausea and dread which had poured over her at the sight of yet another rusting Vault entrance. After the macabre experiments and hidden horrors she'd discovered in other Vaults, the last thing she'd wanted was to go in... but Cait's only hope of recovery from end-stage Psycho addiction had lain in the underground rooms and tunnels, so she'd taken a deep breath, clutched her friend's hand so hard that Cait had yelped a complaint, and ventured closer.

It had been clear from the outset – and from the gunfire and mocking taunts that greeted their approach – that the old Vault had been occupied by Gunners, and that it had served as both base and bunker to the band of ruthless mercenaries. However, a closer inspection had revealed another, more sinister use; a fake caravan post had been set up near the entrance, an apparent attempt to lure in unwary travelers with the promise of trade. They'd even found some blue and yellow paint from somewhere, and made efforts to change the number on the blast door to read “81”. One unlucky group of traders had already fallen for the ruse, only to be stripped of their valuables, dignity and lives the moment they'd crossed the threshold.

“ _Bastards,”_ Cait had muttered, stepping over a dead caravan guard. _“Tryin' to fool people into thinkin' this is some sort of friendly Vault._ _I say we put 'em out of business for good._ _What about you,_ _Margot_ _?"_

Margot had barely had time to nod her head before another team of Gunners came running up to investigate the commotion at the entrance. However, the mercenaries had made the fatal error of underestimating their intended victims, and their jeers had soon turned to screams. She'd seen the same story play out at the GNN Plaza, with Danse at her side – for all their tactics, training and firepower, there was one thing the Gunners always seemed hopelessly ill-equipped to deal with, and that was the General of the Minutemen.

_I wonder if the bodies are still there_ , she mused, as she scrolled east on the map and saw the television station's marker roll into view. _If that bastard Ryder is still tied to a chair, or if someone finally put him out of his misery. Who found him first? The AntAgonizer, or the Brotherhood? Either way, I doubt it went well for him..._

Her quiet contemplation was broken by the sound of Danse's voice, raised to be heard over the sounds of a turbulent sky:

“Lancer-Sergeant Hadley. Do you know why Elder Maxson wanted to see us?”

Margot glanced up from the soft green glow of the screen, and felt a ripple of cold water run through her blood when she caught sight of the man in the cockpit. His team, Recon Squad Medusa, had been sent to relieve Recon Squad Gladius at Cambridge Police Station earlier in the year; she remembered that he was twenty-five, and that the others jokingly referred to him as “Gramps” because he was the oldest member of the squad. She remembered, too, how eagerly those bright-eyed youngsters had talked about their first Commonwealth assignment… and how casually her best friend from the Railroad had spoken of tearing through their ranks and using this very aircraft to bring explosive death to the _Prydwen_ , only to dismiss the idea again almost in the same instant, shrugging off the scheme as if it had been nothing more than a passing flight of fancy, or a jacket that didn't quite fit.

_I threatened to blow up the Prydwen_ _too_ _,_ she remembered, feeling the guilt surface again. _Except I_ _was just bluffing. I_ _didn't_ _really_ _mean it_ _. But surely_ _Deacon_ _didn't mean it either_ _-_ _I mean, I know_ _Deacon_ _. H_ _e_ _'s a good guy. He_ _'d never do something_ _like that_ _... would he?_

But even as she tried to convince herself that it wasn't possible, she could feel her sense of certainty slipping away. What went on inside Deacon's head was a mystery; the man blurred the lines between fiction and fact so effortlessly that she wondered if he still remembered the difference between the two. Was his so-called “contingency plan” just another lie to keep her guessing? Another test, to see how she'd respond? Or was she so used to hearing big, bold, brash untruths from his lips that she'd mistaken a rare moment of candor for more of the same?

“Negative, sir,” the pilot answered, without looking back. “We were on-base in Cambridge conducting routine overnight checks when we received orders to pick you up in Sanctuary. We were advised that Elder Maxson wanted to see you, stat, but no further details.”

“Acknowledged,” said Danse politely. “Thank you for your report, Lancer-Sergeant. I hope all is well in Cambridge.”

“Yes, sir!” came the reply, this time with more enthusiasm. “Operations are going well! We've established fresh supply lines and set up a secure radio connection to Command. We have snipers stationed on the roof in case of aerial assault, and turrets down below to take out the muties and Raiders. We even have checkpoints set up around the perimeter to monitor caravans and civilian traffic, and patrols run 24/7. Nothing's getting past us, sir, don't you worry!”

Margot breathed out slowly and stared down at the Pip-Boy's screen, so that nobody else could see the look on her face. Deacon had been right about one thing, at least. She had to do something. She'd have to speak to Maxson about this, and soon, before the Railroad started to doubt her commitment to saving the Commonwealth's synths and opted to take matters into their own hands. If she were to fail in her vow to protect the Brotherhood -

“Everything all right, ma'am?”

Margot looked up abruptly as a heavy hand fell onto her arm, and saw a Knight crouched next to her – a young woman with a severe military haircut, a concerned expression, and a suit of Power Armor which appeared to have been freshly painted. Even taking into account the wasteland's tendency to add a few years to faces, she couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty. It was the eyes, she thought. Life in the military was harsh, but hope still burned bright in the eyes of young soldiers.

“Ma'am?” the Knight repeated. “Are you okay?”

_Well, movie_ _night was a bust, you guys interrupted the first makeout session I've had in over two hundred years,_ _and_ _one of my_ _best_ _friends may or may not be plotting to kill us al_ _l_ _,_ Margot dearly wanted to retort. _But yeah, everything's fine. W_ _hy,_ _do I look less than thrilled about being dragged out here in the middle of the night without explanation_ _?_

“I'm fine, sister,” she said instead, forcing a smile onto her face. “Tired, that's all.”

“Don't worry, Paladin, we're almost there,” the Knight remarked, more cheerfully. “Hopefully Elder Maxson won't keep you for long and you can head home again. Maybe he just wants some intel or something. Or maybe he - ”

“Knight Foster, don't bother the Paladin,” said Danse tersely, from across the Vertibird. “She's tired. Let her rest.”

“I'm fine, Danse,” Margot insisted, as Knight Foster made a quiet apology and returned to her seat. “Not much point trying to sleep anyway. Like she said, we're almost there.”

As if on cue, she felt a slight shift beneath her feet, then a brief, gentle tilt sideways as the _Claymore_ adjusted its course. They were flying east now, she noticed; toward the rising sun, or at least where it would have been, had they been summoned at a more civilized hour instead of the middle of the night. She let the PipBoy's screen return to standby and leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes.

_Ugh. This is all Maxson's fault. What the hell does he want with us, anyway?_

Across the Vertibird's cabin, Danse sighed and looked down at his hands. He dearly wanted to close his eyes. Not to sleep – although it was late, and he was tired – but to fall back into the place in time where he and Margot had been curled up happily together on his couch, and relive every second of those tender moments between them. He imagined kissing her again; suppressed a sigh at the memory of her hands on his back; tried not to dwell on the thought of buttons and lace, or how _warm_ she'd been, or how perfectly his hand had cupped the soft and voluptuous curve of her breast.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and wished that he'd been able to take his Power Armor. There had been no time for that, unfortunately; he'd barely had time to change into his uniform. How he wished he hadn't had to change at all - or better yet, that it would have been enough to undress at the end of the day and let Margot's kisses cover his skin instead. Already he found himself looking up and admiring the contours of her face; the fall of her hair; the perfect black of her uniform, and the perfect red of her lips. It was all too easy to imagine the smell of her perfume on his pillow, and the bliss of her arms wrapping around him at night.

Sometimes, he thought, biting his lip and wondering why the hell it was suddenly so hot in the Vertibird's cabin, he wished that the Institute hadn't taken such care to perfectly imitate the human body. What was the point of him even _having_ such thoughts? Why had they bothered to program any sort of mating instinct into something incapable of reproduction, other than to prove that they could? Unless, of course, it had always been their intention to distract him from his duties and thus bring about the downfall of the entire Brotherhood of Steel...

_I'll be damned if I give them the satisfaction,_ he decided, and crossed his legs defiantly.

“Ma'am,” Scribe Rissel announced suddenly, from the co-pilot's seat. “Sir. We're approaching the LZ. Lancer-Sergeant Hadley will drop you off here, but we just got word from our CO – she says we have to report back to base, stat.”

“Yeah, one of our scouts is reporting a mutie encampment a few kliks from the Cambridge perimeter,” the pilot confirmed. “Knight-Captain Murray wants us to do a flyover and check it out. Looks like you'll have to make your own way home, Paladin.”

Margot's eyes opened indignantly.

“ _What?_ You mean you're just going to dump us out here and take off again? In the middle of the night, with no Power Armor, no equipment and no damn notice? Is this some kind of joke?”

“It's fine, Paladin. We can signal for another Vertibird,” Danse assured her, although he seemed to be trying hard to conceal his own irritation. “If all else fails, we can hitch a ride back to the _Prydwen_ and pick up some supplies for the hike home.”

“The _Prydwen_? But that's even further away!” Margot complained. “I was supposed to take Shaun to Diamond City tomorrow – we'll never make it back in time if we have to walk home!”

“Your duty to the Brotherhood comes first, Paladin,” Danse reminded her. “Shaun will understand. And postponing the trip for a day or so won't do the boy any harm. Diamond City will still be there tomorrow, and the day after that.”

Margot wasn't so sure that they ought to take things like the continued existence of other settlements for granted, but decided that she was too tired to argue about the brevity of life in the wastes. Instead, she stared furiously out of the window as they traversed the sea of clouds and darkness, and tried not to think of Shaun's disappointed little face, or the unwelcome prospect of a long walk home _._

_Damn it, Maxson. This had better be good…_

_*_

The Vertibird touched down on the ground with a soft _bump_ , followed by the sound of an opening door. They'd landed on a stretch of road not far from the GNN Plaza; Danse had already jumped down onto the asphalt, his right hand extending up to take hers.

“Sorry to cut and run, ma'am,” Knight Foster said apologetically, as Margot took Danse's hand and stepped down onto the road. “You know how it is. Can't risk those green bastards getting too close to base.”

Margot noticed the way Danse's eyes darkened briefly at the mention of Super Mutants, but saw him nod in response.

“Understood, Knight. Good luck with your mission, although I have every confidence that you'll be able to eradicate the Super Mutant threat with ease. Those monstrosities don't stand a chance against a well-trained Brotherhood squad.”

“No, sir!” the Knight replied, with a big grin. “Just a shame you and the Paladin have to miss out on the fun… but I guess Elder Maxson needs you more than we do right now. We'll contact _Prydwen_ Command on the way and see if we can get you a flight home.”

Danse nodded.

“Appreciate it, soldier.”

“No problem, sir. _Ad victoriam!_ ”

They stood back and watched as the _Claymore_ took off again, returning to the unquiet skies and fading back into the dark. The storm, however, showed no signs of departure; although the rain seemed to be abating, the clouds were still rumbling resentfully, taking on an odd green tint at their edges, and Margot thought she could taste something metallic in the air. Moments later, lightning struck off in the distance, and the uptick in noise from her Pip-Boy's Geiger counter confirmed her observations.

“Another rad-storm,” she sighed, rummaging in one of her pockets. “Seems like they're a dime a dozen in these parts. Better pop some pills before we head on in there.”

She found the bottle of Rad-X she'd been searching for and held it out to Danse, but he shook his head.

“No need to waste those on me. We both know I don't really need them.”

“Not the point,” Margot said shortly, opening it up and tipping out a couple of the pills into her hand. She dry-swallowed one, and offered him the other again. “Like I said before, you're resistant to radiation… not immune. Now hurry up and take one before you turn into a Glowing One. Believe it or not, there are such things as Ghoul synths out there.”

“And how exactly does that work?” said Danse, with the beginnings of a frown.

Margot raised her eyebrows in response.

“Well, you could always stand there not taking your Rad-X and learn the hard way...”

Danse looked quietly horrified at the notion, and took the other pill from her palm. Margot smiled as she watched him swallow it down.

“There. That wasn't so bad, right?”

“I suppose not. And while I suspect it's probably unnecessary, I can't deny that it makes me feel a little more human.”

“Good.”

They turned and marched down the remains of the road. Were it not for the radstorm, they would have walked in silence; instead, every step was accompanied by the sound of the sky trying to tear itself apart.

“I still can't believe we have to hoof it halfway across the Commonwealth in a radstorm, with no kit, on our day off,” Margot said, heaving another sigh as she looked up at the storm overhead. “This is _bullshit._ ”

“It's _unfortunate_ ,” Danse corrected her, rather sternly. “But I'm sure you don't need to be reminded that this is the military, Paladin. Vertibirds are supposed to be utilized for operational purposes, not for the leisure and convenience of individual soldiers. If we have to walk home, even in adverse weather conditions, then so be it.”

“Sucks to be us,” Margot responded tartly.

Danse sighed.

“I suppose I can't argue with that assessment.”

They fell silent again as they approached the GNN Plaza building, a silhouette outlined in green against the crackling, rain-streaked sky. The last time they'd seen this place, it had been crawling with Gunners; after witnessing the cruelty that had taken place within its walls, she'd hoped never to see it again. Now that they were here, however, she was relieved to see that hostiles had been replaced by friendlier forces. She could see troops in familiar Power Armor patrolling the perimeter, and a Brotherhood flag flapping from a newly-installed flagpole. Two more soldiers were busy painting the Brotherhood of Steel's insignia over the Gunner symbol which had once adorned a barricade; they seemed to be taking great care to erase all traces of former enemy occupation. Others were setting up fortifications, or carrying ammunition cans and supply crates in through the main doors.

Margot was about to make some lighthearted remark about liking what they'd done with the place when she noticed the pit on the other side of the road. A pair of Knights in grimy Power Armor were dutifully shoveling earth over its contents; when she looked closer, she saw that the gaping hole in the ground was full of bodies, each one wrapped up in makeshift shrouds of cloth.

“Looks like a mass grave,” she remarked, more somberly, as two more soldiers maneuvered another hastily-wrapped bundle down the steps. Although both men passed her at a brisk pace, her nose wrinkled at the distinct, unpleasant smell which was clinging to their cargo.

“We left behind a lot of bodies after our last mission,” she heard Danse saying, as she followed their progress to the side of the grave. “They have to be disposed of sooner or later.”

“Human beings bury their dead,” Margot murmured, almost to herself. “Unless they're Gunners. Then they just leave their enemies to rot.”

“All the more reason why we should persist with the practice,” Danse said gruffly. “They may have forgotten their humanity, but we haven't. And in any case, there are hygienic protocols to be observed when reclaiming enemy bases. Bodies need to be cleared quickly in order to prevent the spread of disease and infestation. Failure to properly dispose of human remains can result in days or even weeks of extra decontamination work for our brothers and sisters. Another reason we frown upon leaving the dead unburied.”

Margot thought again of Kellogg's corpse, still moldering in Fort Hagen, then reminded herself of Nate's body. He hadn't had a proper funeral either. Out of the two, he still seemed the more deserving of the pair.

_Another thing I'll have to ask Maxson about…_

“So what do you think he wants?” she said, as they ascended the building's steps and stepped up onto the veranda.

Danse stopped, just short of the door.

“Elder Maxson? I'm not sure, although I have to say it's unusual for an Elder to visit a battlefield after hostilities have concluded. My guess is that the Scribes from the reclamation team found something of note while they were combing through the wreckage.”

“Something important enough to drag Arthur Maxson off the _Prydwen_?” Margot tried to joke.

“ _Elder_ Maxson,” Danse corrected her again, without missing a beat. “And yes. This location is technologically significant and potentially of great interest to the Brotherhood. After all, it's not every day that we come across a working television station. We could use it to spread the Brotherhood's message to the entire Commonwealth - or even further afield, depending on the broadcasting range.”

He opened the door and let Margot go through first.

“I remember you saying something about that,” said Margot, stepping inside. “So you think he wants to use this place to air Brotherhood propaganda?”

“It's possible,” Danse conceded, as he followed her into the building. “Or he could simply be curious about the equipment. He had a keen interest in technology even in his youth – he may have wanted to inspect this site for himself and see what he could learn from this place.”

“Hope he doesn't shut down the regular programming entirely,” Margot said wistfully. “It was good to see _Upton Manor_ again. And I think the other settlers liked watching those old shows too. Maybe the ratings will go up now that we've taken the AntAgonizer off the air.”

“That's one regularly-scheduled feature I certainly won't miss,” commented Scribe-Initiate Morgan, who was working on a wall-mounted terminal near the main doors. “The hours we spent sitting around watching those shows, waiting for one of her stupid broadcasts… if I never see _The Atomic Adventures of Vault Boy_ ever again, it'll be too soon.”

“You and me both,” said Margot, with a little grimace. “Keep up the good work, Morgan – whatever it is you're doing.”

“Oh, Senior Scribe Neriah asked me to reactivate that dormant Protectron unit over there and see if it's still serviceable,” said Scribe-Initiate Morgan cheerily, with a nod toward the robot in its protective pod. “She said she wants us to bring it back to the _Prydwen_ for spare parts.”

Margot felt something cold settle in her stomach.

“Yeah, she seems to be doing a lot of that sort of thing lately,” she mumbled.

“If you'll excuse us, Scribe-Initiate, we have to report in to Elder Maxson,” Danse interrupted; he'd seen the way Margot's face had paled at the mention of Neriah and spare parts. “We shouldn't keep him waiting.”

He took Margot by the elbow and ushered her away through the red double doors before she could think to say another word. As the doors shut behind them, she looked up at him gratefully.

“Thanks, Danse.”

“Not a problem. I'm aware that you may not be on the best terms with Scribe Neriah right now, particularly given the nature of her current project, and I noticed that you were beginning to exhibit some distress. It seemed like an appropriate time to intervene.”

Margot smiled a little.

“Good call. Thanks.”

“Ah! Paladin!” said Proctor Quinlan brightly, hurrying out of one of the partitioned offices which lined the atrium. He was holding a dust-stained clipboard in one hand, and a sheaf of yellowing technical documents in the other. “And Danse… good, you're both here. Elder Maxson wants to speak with you.”

“About what?” said Margot, frowning. “Proctor Quinlan, I really hope this is important. I was supposed to be on leave tonight. I didn't even get to say goodbye to my son before I left.”

“Well, I hope you're aware that your family commitments are secondary to those of the Brotherhood, Paladin,” said Proctor Quinlan, more stiffly this time. “When our Elder summons us, we are quick to respond to his call, no matter the circumstances, and we - ”

“Proctor Quinlan,” said a louder voice. “Thank you. I'll take it from here.”

Proctor Quinlan turned to see Elder Maxson striding across the atrium. Scribe Harper was hanging onto his forearm, hurrying a little to keep up with his pace. She looked small and fragile beside him in her oversized olive-green coat, and seemed simultaneously curious and afraid of her surroundings; Margot noticed that she looked around anxiously at every sudden noise, and clung a little tighter to her Elder's arm each time, as if she feared that the ground might swallow her without trace if she were to let go. Over both their shoulders loomed Star Paladin Hopkins, seven feet of red hair, impeccable Power Armor and profound suspicion.

“Yes, sir,” Proctor Quinlan replied immediately. “I should return to my duties in any event. Scribe Haggerty has almost finished transcribing the terminal entries I asked her to work on, and I really ought to supervise - ”

“Of course, Proctor,” Elder Maxson interrupted. “Don't let me detain you.”

Proctor Quinlan thanked him and hurried away into one of the side offices. Margot tried not to smile as she overheard the man raise his voice to berate one of the Knights for meddling with one of the terminals, and then the fussy sounds of irritable keystrokes and brandished wads of paper.

“Reporting for duty, sir,” said Danse, his tone low and respectful. “How can we be of service?”

“I hope it's nothing too technical,” Margot quipped. “I left my Scribe's hat in my other locker.”

Scribe Harper laughed nervously.

“If Elder Maxson needed technical advice, Paladin, he could ask me or any of the other Scribes from the Order of the Quill,” she said. “Pre-War technology is our area of expertise. Although I have to say, this place is _incredible_. I've never been inside a television station before!”

“I have to say that it's a first for me as well,” Elder Maxson agreed. “This is one of the best-preserved telecommunications facilities the Brotherhood has ever come across in the wastes. I'll admit that I was skeptical about its potential use as a military asset, but the reclamation team reports that the broadcasting equipment is in remarkable condition. Now that this facility is under Brotherhood control, I think we could put it to good use.”

“If we want to win the people's hearts and minds, we have to spread the word of the Brotherhood across the Commonwealth,” Danse said earnestly.

“Indeed,” said Maxson, with a sharp look at Danse. “We'd previously discussed the possibility of operating a pro-Brotherhood radio service in the Commonwealth, similar to the Galaxy News Radio service in the Capital Wasteland, but being able to see the face of the Brotherhood, as well as hear its voice… I can't think of a better way to inspire the local population.”

Margot tried not to roll her eyes.

“Of course, it'll take a considerable amount of work to get this facility running again,” Maxson continued. “But once this site is fully operational, every corner of the Commonwealth will know about the Brotherhood of Steel and our mission.”

“We won't be able to move for new recruits,” said Scribe Harper, more eagerly. “I bet people will come from all over, wanting to know more about the Brotherhood! We'll have more Initiates than we'll know what to do with!”

Maxson started to smile.

“You seem excited about the idea, Scribe Harper. Proctor Quinlan informs me that you enjoyed helping Senior Scribe Neriah's team to monitor the programming, and that you'd expressed an interest in learning more about the technology here. Would this be a project you'd be interested in developing?”

Scribe Harper's face lit up.

“Really? You mean I could - ”

“Look into developing a more appropriate programming schedule? Yes, I think that would be a fitting first project for a future leader of the Brotherhood,” said Elder Maxson, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I'll have Proctor Quinlan put together a research team for you first thing in the morning.”

“I don't think that's advisable, sir,” Star Paladin Hopkins warned, as Harper let out a happy, high-pitched squeal and cuddled Elder Maxson's elbow in delight. “This place still hasn't been fully secured, and the environmental hazards are still being cleared – I don't think it's appropriate for the future wife of a Elder to be out here without at least one unit on security detail. I'd prefer two. Or three.”

“Well, I wouldn't be out here _all_ the time, Star Paladin!” Scribe Harper piped up happily, looking up from Maxson's shoulder. “In fact, I don't think I'd have to come out here very often at all! Many of the recording devices appear to be portable – we could set up a studio back at the airport and do the bulk of the work there. After that, we can send out operatives to dispatch recordings to this location and then have the personnel here operate the broadcasting equipment for us. Eventually, I think we could do most of the work remotely from the _Prydwen_ , with a smaller team stationed here to maintain this facility and keep it secure.”

“Ma'am, there is the matter of the basement,” Star Paladin Hopkins reminded her.

Scribe Harper grew quiet, and rather pale.

“Oh... oh dear. Yes, I suppose that has to be dealt with first…”

“Which brings me to the reason why I called you both here,” Maxson announced. “Star Paladin, please take Scribe Harper over to Proctor Quinlan's station so that they can discuss the future operation of this facility in more detail. Paladin de Havilland and Knight-Captain Danse will accompany me downstairs.”

“Sir, I don't think you should go back down there on your own,” said the Elder's bodyguard, now almost rigid with disapproval. “That area is still being secured and we still aren't sure about the possible ingress point of - ”

“Hopkins,” Maxson interrupted him. “I know that you accompanied me east to the Citadel when I was young, and I've always been grateful for your protection and counsel. But I think it would reflect very poorly on our chapter if its Elder lacked the skills and training to fend for himself on a trip to the basement. With that in mind, I think your services can be safely dispensed with - at least on this occasion.”

“He won't be alone, sir,” Danse promised, in the face of the bodyguard's scowl. “Paladin de Havilland and I will be there to watch out for him if needed. You can count on us to assist him in the event of any trouble.”

Star Paladin Hopkins gave him a long, cold look, but saw the equally stern gaze of his Elder fall upon him, and relented in the face of Steel.

“Very well, Elder Maxson,” he grumbled. “I'll escort Scribe Harper back to Proctor Quinlan.”

“See that you do,” Elder Maxson responded. “We'll return to this level shortly, but you have my permission to come looking for us if we don't return within the next twenty minutes. Until then, I entrust my future wife to your care. Make certain that she comes to no harm.”

Star Paladin Hopkins saluted.

“Yes, sir. Scribe Harper, if you could accompany me?”

“Of course,” said Scribe Harper, smiling graciously. She unhooked her arm from Elder Maxson's, and held it out for the bodyguard to take instead. “Thank you, Star Paladin. I'm sure Arthur won't be long.”

“No, dear. I won't,” Maxson assured her. “I'll be back soon. Paladin, Knight-Captain – with me, please.”

Scribe Harper waved at him as Hopkins led her away, and blew him a tiny kiss. Maxson's face went pink, but as he turned away, Margot noticed the smallest of smiles hidden beneath his beard, and the distracted way he glanced over his shoulder a few moments later, to see if Harper was still looking.

“So what's this about the basement?” she inquired, as she and Danse followed him through the corridors to the elevators.

Elder Maxson coughed, his embarrassment quickly covered with a fresh scowl.

“While Proctor Quinlan and the reclamation team were examining the inner workings of the recording studio, Scribe Harper and I toured the lower floor of the facility with Star Paladin Hopkins,” he began. “We found something down there and – well, I'd like to see what you make of it.”

“Could you be more specific, sir?” said Danse politely.

“I think it would be better if you and Paladin de Havilland saw this for yourselves, Danse,” said Elder Maxson brusquely. He pushed the elevator button and stepped in as the doors popped open. Margot and Danse followed him inside, glanced at each other, but said nothing.

They descended with a rumble of machinery. Margot held her breath. She'd never been in such close quarters with Elder Maxson before – they were standing right next to each other, so close that their shoulders almost touched.

_Please don't let this piece of crap break down. I don't think I could take the awkwardness of having to be stuck in an elevator with Maxson for hours._

She glanced from one man to the other.

_Danse, on the other hand..._

She started to smirk at the thought of getting stuck in an elevator with Danse. They'd be trapped in a small, confined space, with only each other for company. There would be nobody else around to interrupt their time together - not even a particularly determined Preston. In fact, she thought happily, they might not be discovered for _hours_.

“Something amusing, Paladin?” said Elder Maxson sharply.

“What? N-no, sir,” Margot managed to stammer, although she couldn't hold back the rush of red in her cheeks. She thanked her lucky stars that the interior light in the elevator wasn't working. “Sorry. I was thinking about – uh - something funny my son told me. A joke about refrigerators.”

“And how is your son, de Havilland? Settling in well at home?”

Margot looked at him incredulously. She hadn't told Elder Maxson much more than he'd needed to know about the destruction of the Institute, but he'd known about the real Shaun; she hadn't been able to hide that terrible revelation from anybody on the _Prydwen._ He knew, too, that the child in her care wasn't the one she'd lost – it had gradually become common knowledge that Paladin de Havilland's little boy was a synth designed to replace her dying son, although surprisingly few people had minded. Well, she corrected herself, if they _had_ minded, then they'd been respectful enough not to say so to a grieving mother, although Proctor Quinlan had advised her to be cautious around the boy at first, in case Shaun's creators had had more sinister motives in mind than the desire to make amends. She'd understood his trepidation, and had even shared it herself for the first few weeks, watching her newly-adopted son closely for any sign of abnormal behavior. Of course, Shaun had turned out to be as innocent as he'd first appeared, and Haylen and a few other soldiers still inquired after him. But the fact that Elder Maxson, of all people, had chosen to ask about Shaun, knowing full well what he was…

“He's, uh - he's fine, sir,” she said, concealing her shock as politely as possible. “Maybe a little disappointed that I won't be taking him to Diamond City tomorrow as planned. I'm hoping he won't be too unhappy with me when I get back.”

“Please convey my apologies to your son, Paladin,” said Elder Maxson. “It wasn't my intention to remove you from your family without warning. However, this is official business, and I'm sure young Shaun is aware that military operations take precedence over family matters.”

“He is, sir,” Margot responded briskly. “In fact, we even had a little talk about operational security the other day. He knows all about the importance of military operations and how we aren't at liberty to discuss sensitive matters with outsiders.”

Danse made a small, uncomfortable noise; she took care to ignore it.

“A very important topic,” said Elder Maxson, with dignity. “Well done. Now, on that subject - ”

The elevator touched bottom, and the doors spat them out into the basement. Margot was about to groan, anticipating the darkness that awaited them at the bottom, but as she stepped out of the elevator and followed Danse and Maxson through the basement's dank concrete corridors, she was surprised to find light, noise and activity all around her. Scribes and Knights were setting up banks of construction lights and carrying boxes and equipment down the halls, yelling orders at each other to come and help. It was much brighter down here, and a little warmer, although she could still feel the remembered cold of fear prickling at her arms.

_Vault-Tec promised me a new life underground. They took my old one instead. The price I paid for escaping that blinding flash of light was waking up alone in the dark. Damn it, nothing good ever happens underground. Every time I head beneath the surface, I'm terrified_ _that_ _I'll never come back up._ _I keep thinking_ _that_ _the_ _cold and the_ _darkness will swallow me whole_ _this time_ _,_ _and I'll never see Shaun again..._

“Everything all right, Paladin?”

She looked up at Danse, and saw the concern in his eyes. She hadn't realized she was trembling.

“I'm fine,” she said, in a strange voice that sounded higher and more brittle than her own. “Doing great...”

He was still looking at her, slightly perturbed, apparently unconvinced by her assurances. How she longed to reach out for his hand, or lean in closer and cuddle up to him, the way Scribe Harper clung to the arm of her Elder and future spouse in fearful adoration. But there were too many eyes upon them down here, and too many reasons why she couldn't be close to him. Instead, she breathed deeply and let her hands curl in tightly on themselves, feeling her fingernails dig slow, deep notches into her palms.

“Doing fine,” she repeated. “Just fine.”

They walked past a pair of Scribes dismantling something at a workbench, while a third rummaged in a nearby toolbox; their shadows danced along the walls, heads bobbing and hands moving together. One happened to look up at the right time, and called out:

“Elder Maxson! _Ad victoriam_ , sir!”

“ _Ad victoriam_ ,” Maxson responded. “Just passing through, Scribes. Continue your work.”

As they walked through the next doorway, Margot saw the spot where she'd concealed a Gunner's body in an old oil drum. Both were missing, although she saw an Initiate on his hands and knees nearby, diligently scrubbing away the dried bloodstains on the floor. She wished she could scrub away the stains of death from her conscience so easily; sadly, there was no such thing as Abraxo for the soul. It was at times like these that she almost envied synths and their ability to have their memories wiped away, although Danse would almost certainly shudder at the thought if she were to say it aloud, and tell her that she didn't know what she was wishing for.

They passed beneath the catwalk, then into the main area of the basement. The spotlight was still panning aimlessly across the floor. Immediately beneath it, a lanky, freckled Knight in combat armor was surveying a stack of supply crates, while the round-faced Scribe at his side ticked off items on a clipboard; they looked up at the sound of footsteps, and jumped when they saw Elder Maxson coming.

“Elder Maxson! Sir! I – I'm sorry, we weren't expecting to see you again so soon,” said the Scribe, stumbling a little over the end of her sentence. She hurried to tuck her pencil behind her ear, then saluted.

“Scribe Hart - Knight Wells,” Maxson acknowledged them both. “I apologize for interrupting your work again.”

“Not a problem, sir,” said Knight Wells quickly. “What can we do for you?”

“Please show Paladin de Havilland and Knight-Captain Danse what you showed me earlier.”

“Right away, sir! Please follow us!”

Once again, Margot and Danse followed in their leader's wake. They dared to look at each other, but not to wonder aloud what was going on, or voice any exasperation about the heightening and entirely unnecessary sense of mystery. At last, however, Margot felt the last of her patience slip through her fingers.

“Sir, with all due respect, what the hell's going on? Why are we here? What are we even...”

But when the younger soldiers stopped and pointed up at the wall ahead, her mouth opened, and her words and feed both slowed to a halt.

“… looking at...” she finished weakly.

The area was surrounded by construction lights, rigged to cast their beams up onto the concrete wall. The shape they highlighted was the rough and horrible outline of a giant ant, red and glistening in their glare. Beside it, daubed in the same shade of crimson, were the words: _“_ _Brotherhood Beware! The Ants Shall Inherit The Earth!”_

Margot felt her mouth go dry, and she looked helplessly at Danse.

“That – that wasn't there before,” she managed to blurt out.

Danse's eyes were narrowed, but not against the light. He remained silent for a moment, scowling up at the sinister slogan on the wall. The letters themselves seemed to be crawling down the wall in long flame-red drips, as crude and ugly as the ant's design.

“No,” he said quietly. “This appears to be a recent addition. It must have been painted after the conclusion of our mission.”

“We discovered it shortly after we arrived at this facility,” Scribe Hart added helpfully. “The paint was still fresh. We assume that the AntAgonizer is responsible for the message - or some agent acting on her behalf.”

Margot remembered the warning that terrified, stammering Travis had been forced to play over the airwaves of Diamond City Radio. She already knew that the AntAgonizer had found out what they'd done, and at the time, she'd dismissed the woman's shrill fury; it had seemed remote and stupid, worlds away from her peaceful existence in Sanctuary Hills. But now that she stood here, looking at the paint that dripped like blood down the walls, she could feel the chill in her veins seeping straight through to her flesh.

“She must have found Ryder,” she said, almost to herself. “Damn it! What the hell was I thinking, leaving that Gunner asshole behind so he could sit there and sing like a fucking canary the minute she showed up?”

“Attempting to intimidate her into leaving the area, I assume,” said Elder Maxson, rather coldly. “Although it appears that word of your activities wasn't quite the deterrent you were hoping for. If anything, it only served to provide her with confirmation that the Brotherhood was responsible for the disruption of her operations, as well as the eradication of the Gunner presence here. We'll have to take extra steps to secure this facility against enemy incursion. No doubt she's already planning some kind of reprisal.”

Margot looked uneasily at Danse, and saw her look returned. It was clear that he, too, was wondering about the wisdom of leaving Ryder alive, although he was tactful enough to keep his misgivings to himself.

_Well, that's operations security screwed,_ she thought, as her heart sank lower in her chest. _I know Brotherhood uniforms are distinctive and my reputation with the Minutemen kind of precedes me, but damn it, I didn't need to make his job any easier by giving him my name and faction affiliation! That's exactly the kind of shit I warned Shaun never to do, and I go ahead and do it myself, like an idiot..._

“Uh... Elder Maxson? Do you still need our assistance?” Scribe Hart ventured timidly.

“No further assistance needed at this time, Scribe,” Elder Maxson told her. “Return to your duties. I'll summon you again if I need you.”

Scribe Hart and Knight Wells both looked relieved, and hurried away to return to their previous task. That left Margot, Danse and Maxson, standing in the shadow of the ant, with an increasingly awkward silence closing in around them.

“Well, Paladin,” said Elder Maxson, breaking the hush at last. He turned to look at Margot. “I have to say, I'm surprised. Normally you're the first to voice an opinion when it comes to operational matters. I thought you'd have more to say about this.”

Margot forced herself to meet his gaze. The mere fact of being underground already made her want to claw her way out through the concrete, and her discomfort was compounded by the knowledge of what had taken place here. Though the Gunners were dead and their prisoners had been released, there was something about this place that still bothered her; an unpleasantness that seemed to crawl across her skin, like a host of insects on the march.

“Ryder was a liability, sir,” she said awkwardly, after a while. “I'd planned to leave him behind as a warning, but I'm beginning to think that may have been a mistake on my part. I should either have killed him in combat, or taken him prisoner myself and brought him in for interrogation.”

“I won't disagree with you, Paladin,” said Elder Maxson, fixing his stare squarely on her again. “Although I'm sure that Knight-Captain Danse will remind you that we give no quarter to our enemies.”

“So what do we do with Ryder?” said Margot. Anxiety was growing again in her chest, tightening across her ribs.

“He'll be executed for his crimes against the Brotherhood,” said Maxson, his countenance turning steadily more grim. “Enemy combatants face firing squads, not courtrooms, and this one is no exception.”

Margot fell silent, appalled. No trial. That was the kind of injustice she would have raged against, back in her lawyer days. She'd insisted on a military tribunal for Initiate Clarke, and spoken up in Danse's defense, even after Elder Maxson had decreed that he'd committed treason against the Brotherhood of Steel and had to die. Her inner lawyer was _screaming_ that she should say something now, too, even if she was the only person alive who remembered the laws and treaties which had once governed the treatment of prisoners of war. Though she loathed the very mention of Ryder and what he'd done, she took a deep breath anyway, and said:

“Sir, with respect, I have to disagree. Ryder may be the worst kind of scum there is, but he's a prisoner of war, and if we execute him without any kind of due process, then we're as bad as the faction that sent him. We're the Brotherhood of Steel, not a bunch of lawless Raiders - we're supposed to hold ourselves to higher standards and show the wasteland how humanity is supposed to work. That's why we bury the dead, isn't it? Because we believe in mercy, and human dignity? What about justice? Don't tell me it's only reserved for members of the Brotherhood nowadays?”

“Yes, we do believe in justice,” Elder Maxson retorted. “And in an ideal world, Paladin, we would have the resources to capture all enemy combatants, bring them to trial, and attempt to rehabilitate them while they serve out their sentences. Unfortunately, feeding and housing our foes hasn't worked out very well for us in the past. I trust you remember Initiate Clarke and his misguided attempt to assist the Feral Ghouls at the airport? Using our resources in order to give aid and comfort to the enemy?”

Margot did, vividly. She thought of the young Initiate again – the Brotherhood rations he'd stolen and fed to the Feral Ghouls locked beneath the airport, and his earnest, desperate pleas for what was left of their lives. But then her thoughts turned to Ellens, and the terror she'd seen in the young woman's eyes. Clarke had been desperate to avoid causing harm to others, but Ryder had shown no pity toward the Gunners' captives. Instead of trying to speak out against their mistreatment, he'd participated. He'd _watched_ , like Kellogg, smiling on the other side of the glass while innocent people screamed and begged for their lives. A monster, in the guise of a man. Should she have spared him too? Had justice been exacted or denied when she pulled the trigger?

“Yes, sir,” she said reluctantly, looking away. “I remember.”

“It's not that I don't respect the Pre-War ideals that you're attempting to uphold, Paladin,” Maxson continued. “But you must remember that the man in our custody isn't some errant Brotherhood soldier in need of discipline. He's a violent criminal from a faction with a long track record of inflicting harm on the innocent. Even if he were to stand trial like one of our own, what would you propose we do with him? Releasing him is not an option, and the Brotherhood of Steel cannot afford to keep him imprisoned indefinitely.”

“Diamond City - ” Margot began.

“Diamond City has security, but no real court system, and it doesn't have the facilities to keep prisoners incarcerated long-term,” Maxson interjected. “And if we deliver him to any other settlement, the best outcome he can expect is a swift execution. More likely he'll meet his end at the hands of an angry mob of civilians, and I hardly consider that an improvement on the current situation. Better that we deal with this matter ourselves, and get it over with.”

_Maxson's_ _got a point_ _,_ Margot thought, even as her conscience squirmed in disgust. _Keeping_ _Ryder_ _around and feeding him rations isn't an option_ _-_ _and_ _if we cut him loose, he'll_ _turn on us in an instant,_ _assuming the locals don't find him and string him up first_ _._ _Much as I hate to admit it, p_ _utting a bullet in his head and throwing him in a ditch is the closest thing we have to justice out here._ _Even_ _Nick_ _had a hard time coming up with a viable alternative_ _to_ _put_ _ting_ _an end to_ _Eddie Winters'_ _life of crime_ _._ _Although_ _I don't think he was entirely happy about it. O_ _ld habits_ _like law and order_ _die hard, don't they?_

“I guess that doesn't leave us with a whole lot of choice in the matter,” she said eventually. “But for the record, sir, I don't like this. Not one bit.”

“I'm not asking you to _like_ it, Paladin,” Elder Maxson responded. “However, you must acknowledge that it's necessary. That man is as much a monster as any mutant abomination we've faced on the battlefield, and he deserves neither pity nor mercy. It's our duty to eradicate him and others like him, for the good of the Commonwealth.”

Danse looked momentarily troubled when he caught Margot's expression, but then he nodded.

“We put Gunners in the ground. That's all the mercy they deserve. But if you're concerned about unnecessary suffering, Paladin, rest assured that his execution will be quick and humane. If I were to commit some unforgivable crime, I know I'd rather face a Brotherhood firing squad than vigilante action at the hands of untrained civilians.”

Margot winced at the thought of Danse blindfolded before a firing squad, having committed the unforgivable crime of being a synth. She wasn't sure if he was making light of how close he'd come to that very fate, or if he simply hadn't made the connection. However, Elder Maxson seemed to have misread her pained expression; he sighed heavily.

“If it helps to assuage your conscience, Paladin, the Gunner prisoner made a full confession within the first five minutes of interrogation, and the evidence of his involvement in the torture of your fellow soldiers is clear-cut. Under the circumstances, I think agonizing at length over the man's fate is entirely unnecessary. Now let's return to the matter at hand...”

He gestured again toward the picture of the ant, and the writing on the wall. Margot let out a nervous little laugh, a sound that seemed much too loud for its surroundings.

“What else is there to say, sir? The AntAgonizer's batshit crazy and thinks she's going to take over the world. Human slaves, insect overlords, the whole “empire of the ants” deal. Looks like she showed up here after we left, got mad because we broke all her toys, and decided to try and intimidate us with some cute little threat… but we're not going anywhere. It takes a lot more than a wall painting to scare away the Brotherhood of Steel. Right, Danse?”

“Absolutely not,” said Danse firmly. “If anything, the AntAgonizer should be the one with cause for concern. If she intends to continue her campaign of harassment and harm against the people of the Commonwealth, then she and her ants will be treated as an invasive species and promptly exterminated.”

Margot smirked a little. This was safer and more familiar territory; when someone was openly calling for the destruction of humanity and attempting to enslave the Commonwealth with an army of killer ants, there was little ambiguity about what needed to be done.

“Damn straight.”

“And how exactly do you propose to do that, Paladin?” said Elder Maxson. He started to frown. “I assume you've made some progress in tracking her down since I last saw you. What have you learned about her possible whereabouts?”

Margot's smile faltered. The only things she'd been looking for in the past few days were peace, quiet, and a foolproof way to get Danse to take the rest of his clothes off.

_Shit_ _. He_ _just_ _had to ask..._

“Not much, sir,” she admitted. “So far – uh - ”

“We suspect that other Gunner outposts will hold more clues as to her whereabouts,” Danse cut in effortlessly, much to Margot's relief. “They're mercenaries, and they don't work for free, so they must have accepted some sort of contract from her. That means paperwork. Payment details, instructions, possible future targets - clues that will lead us back to her. If she has some intermediary acting on her behalf and providing them with funds and instructions, then we find _them_ , and then we use them to find her.”

“This was supposed to be some sort of command center for the Gunners,” Elder Maxson noted. “If that information was available, then I would have expected to find it here, but two separate squads have searched this place from top to bottom, and there seems to be no trace of paperwork.”

“Then they must have kept it at another location, sir,” said Danse, unfazed. “They have bases across the Commonwealth. We'll continue our search. Sooner or later, we'll find something.”

“Then you have no idea where she is,” said Elder Maxson flatly.

Danse hesitated. For a second, there was a tiny flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but then he replied:

“Known Gunner locations will be our first targets. But if we don't turn up anything there, then we'll tear through every Raider den, every mercenary hideout, every dark corner of the Commonwealth, until we find her. She will _not_ get away with terrorizing innocent civilians, or allowing her mercenaries to commit atrocities against Brotherhood soldiers. We'll make her answer for her crimes if it's the last thing we do.”

“Admirable sentiments, Knight-Captain,” said Elder Maxson, although he appeared unmoved by them. “I hope that you and Paladin de Havilland can make good on those promises. For now, I think it's time we got Scribe Harper back to the _Prydwen_. We can discuss a more detailed strategy for dealing with the Gunners once we return.”

“Uh, sir? There's still a couple of things I'd like to discuss with you, sir,” said Margot, before he could turn away. “About my husband. And Scribe Neriah.”

Elder Maxson looked taken aback.

“Senior Scribe Neriah? I'd heard that she was working on a new project of some sort. I'd certainly be interested to hear your insights... but not right now. I'm sure the lateness of the hour hasn't escaped your notice. We can discuss this tomorrow, once you've had time to rest. Then you can head back out into the field and continue gathering intel on the AntAgonizer and the Gunners.”

“Actually, sir, I was still hoping to take my son to Diamond City,” said Margot hastily. “But I intend to resume my mission immediately afterward.”

Elder Maxson looked up again at the scarlet horror of the ant on the wall, then back at her.

“I think _that's_ a little more important than a family outing, don't you, de Havilland?”

“Of course, sir,” said Margot, swallowing. “But I have other business there which may prove to be mission-critical. Supplies to pick up. And, uh, contacts to visit - including an ex-Gunner who may have some useful intel on his former faction,” she added, brightening.

Elder Maxson's lip curled.

“Is that the kind of company you keep in your spare time, Paladin? Mercenaries with no honor, scruples, or regard for human life?”

“MacCready's been reliable in the past, Elder,” Margot answered, a little crestfallen, but determined not to wilt in the face of Maxson's scorn. “I've traveled with him before. He's helped me out in a number of tight spots, provided me with valuable resources and intel, and even saved my life once or twice out in the field. I trust him, and his judgment. And frankly, sir, I'll take help wherever I can get it. Friends are hard to come by out here, and we can't be afford to be fussy about our allies.”

Elder Maxson rolled his eyes.

“Fine. If you insist. But if you have nothing further to contribute at present, then I think it's best that we return to base. I don't want to keep Scribe Harper up any later than necessary.”

_Yeah,_ _we wouldn't want anyone_ _stay_ _ing_ _up late_ _to_ _do nothing on your account,_ Margot thought, bitterly lamenting the warm bed that she'd left behind in Sanctuary Hills. She wanted to say the words, but realized that she'd only have to add them to her ever-lengthening list of regrets. She fought them back down her throat, and said:

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. With me, Paladin, Knight-Captain.”

They followed Elder Maxson back to the elevator. One of the younger Scribes looked up as they passed, and dropped the crate he was carrying. He rushed over to the elevator as Elder Maxson reached out to push the button, almost falling over his own feet in his eagerness to assist.

“Elder Maxson! It's okay, sir, I can get that for you!”

The Scribe's index finger was already outstretched, but his hand was swatted unceremoniously away as he reached for the controls.

“I'm perfectly capable of pushing a button without assistance, Scribe,” said Elder Maxson, with an irritable glance in his direction. “Don't you have more important matters to attend to?”

The Scribe's mouth opened in shock, and then closed.

“Uh, I'm sure I can find something, sir. Sorry, sir...”

He scuttled away, red-faced and sheepish.

Elder Maxson made an exasperated noise and jabbed the circle of plastic, pressing it firmly into its housing. He stepped in, and let Margot and Danse follow him inside.

“You'd think I was incapable of pushing my own buttons,” he said, as the doors closed. He leaned back against the elevator wall as it began its ascent, and sighed; this time, the sound that escaped his lips was a weary one. “Respect for a superior officer is one thing, but I take exception to being _babied_. I'm not a child.”

“I'm afraid it's worse than that, sir,” Margot commented. “You're an Elder.”

Elder Maxson let out a loud, unexpected laugh.

“For once, Paladin, I fear you may be right.”

Margot smirked.

“Hear that, Danse? Elder Maxson says I'm right.”

“Don't get too used to the idea, de Havilland,” Maxson shot back. “I don't want you getting ideas above your station.”

The elevator doors popped open with a cheery little _ding_ and released them back into the building. Margot looked around gratefully at the ground floor, and let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

“Arthur!”

Something small and blonde collided enthusiastically with Elder Maxson's chest. He took a step backward and looked down, startled, at the pair of arms thrown around his middle. He gingerly returned the hug, as if he wasn't quite sure what was happening, or what he was supposed to do about it.

“Scribe Harper? I didn't think I'd been gone _that_ long… is everything all right?”

Scribe Harper smiled up at him.

“I was starting to think the elevator was stuck! Star Paladin Hopkins persuaded me not to meddle with the controls and bring you back up... so what did Paladin de Havilland think of that horrible ant drawing? Does she have any idea how the AntAgonizer could have evaded our patrols and found her way in here?”

Margot shook her head.

“Not really. She could have had a Stealth Boy, or disguised herself as another soldier… or she may have just arrived ahead of us. Although if she did beat us to this place, it wasn't by much. Scribe Hart said the paint was still fresh when they arrived.”

Scribe Harper looked alarmed.

“Do you think she was hiding? Lying in wait for us? Do you think she might still be - ”

“If she's anywhere near this place, Scribe Harper, you have nothing to fear. We'll make sure no harm comes to you or the Elder,” Star Paladin Hopkins said solemnly. He was standing a few feet away, arms folded, eyes still fixed on his charge. “However, I think it would be best to return you both to the _Prydwen_ as soon as possible. A full security detail will be provided for your next visit, should you wish to return.”

Elder Maxson's arms tightened around Scribe Harper.

“I think that would be advisable,” he said. “Report to the _Excalibur_ and tell the crew to prepare for departure. There's one more thing I'd like to take care of before we leave.”

Star Paladin Hopkins' salute was as crisp as ever, even in the early hours of the morning.

“Yes, sir. I'll notify Lancer-Captain Cameron at once.”

As the bodyguard strode away in the direction of the lobby, Danse cleared his throat.

“Sir, the Gunner officer we captured during our mission – we left him secured in the newsroom. Is he still there?”

Elder Maxson shook his head.

“No. I had him moved to one of the upstairs offices. Given that Knight-Captain Ellens and his men were already _en route,_ I thought it prudent to keep the prisoner well out of his way.”

Danse inhaled sharply.

“Knight-Captain Ellens? Whose idea was it to deploy his squad here?”

“Mine,” said Elder Maxson, so icily that Margot could almost feel the temperature dropping around them. “Reclamation Team Midas was the nearest available unit. However, Recon Squad Perseus was ordered to clear the room and take the prisoner upstairs for interrogation before Knight-Captain Ellens and his team arrived. Reclamation Team Midas have been given specific instructions not to approach the prisoner or interact with him in any way, for the safety of all personnel.”

“Understood, sir. However, I think that - ”

“Knight-Captain Danse, I don't recall asking for your thoughts on this,” Elder Maxson said shortly. He added, in a nastier tone: “Assuming of course that they are _your_ thoughts, and not someone else's programming. Either way, you will not question my orders again. Understood?”

Danse's mouth opened slightly.

“I… yes, sir. I apologize.”

He fell behind as the Elder strode ahead, with Scribe Harper hurrying alongside him in a frantic attempt to keep pace. Margot glanced at Danse, and saw the shock and hurt still lingering on his face. She hung back, waiting at his side until the couple ahead of them were out of earshot, then muttered:

“Asshole.”

“Margot - ”

“He _is_ ,” said Margot, giving the back of Maxson's battlecoat a foul look. “Dragging us out here to ask us pointless fucking questions and then disregarding legitimate legal and ethical concerns… I can't believe we stayed up late to deal with this crap. Next time a Scribe knocks on the door in the middle of the night, I'm going to hide under the bed and pretend I'm not in.”

Danse looked pained.

“Margot, you know this is - ”

“Bullshit,” Margot responded. “And don't give me that look, Danse. It is, and you know it. Don't tell me you're happy about what's been going on around here?”

This time, Danse sighed.

“If you must know my thoughts on this matter, Paladin, then no. I'm not. Off the record, I'm particularly unhappy about Knight-Captain Ellens' presence here. Ordering the rest of his squad to report for duty is one thing, but Knight-Sergeant Ellens is his closest living relative. He should never have been dispatched to this location.”

Margot's heart quickened. Of course, the last name was an uncommon one, but hearing her suspicions confirmed filled her with a new and sudden sense of dread.

“They're related?”

“Siblings,” Danse confirmed, as they followed Maxson and Harper into the lobby. “Twins, in fact. Although I don't know them particularly well, I recall that they always shared a close bond, and that he was deeply shaken by her disappearance. No doubt he's aware by now of what she suffered during captivity… I can only begin to imagine what must be going through his head.”

“Jesus,” said Margot quietly. “His sister… what the fuck was Maxson thinking, sending him here?”

“I'm not sure, but I _sincerely_ hope he thought this was necessary,” Danse almost growled. “If not, then I may have to register a formal objection with the Citadel. Knight-Captain Ellens should have been kept well away from this place, not sent here to clean up the Gunners' mess… they might as well have ordered him to wipe his sister's blood off the walls.”

Another figure in Power Armor was standing in the lobby. He saluted at Elder Maxson's approach, and removed his helmet. The man beneath the metal was tall, blond and theoretically quite handsome, although there was something about the newcomer which filled Margot with a sudden, intense loathing. She wasn't sure if it was his bearing or even some quirk of facial expression that she found objectionable, but the fact that she couldn't quite put her finger on the reason for her distaste only served to make it all the more maddening.

“Elder Maxson, sir,” the man announced, saluting with his free arm. His helmet was tucked under the other. “You wanted to see me?”

“Paladin Spencer,” Elder Maxson responded, and Margot remembered the arrogant bodyguard who'd called Danse a _thing_ back in Sanctuary Hills; that certainly explained her instinctive dislike of the man.

“Spencer?” she said, under her breath. “Ugh. Since when did that asshole get his own squad?”

“December,” Danse whispered. “I believe you were out adventuring with MacCready at the time. You missed the official announcement.”

“Sucks to be Squad Perseus,” Margot murmured back. “Wonder what they did to deserve that?”

She thought she'd said it quietly, but Spencer seemed to have overheard; he turned suddenly to look at them.

“De Havilland… and Danse,” he said, sneering slightly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Well, we were planning on staying at home tonight and playing _Blast Radius_ , but Elder Maxson decided that hanging around old TV stations after dark just wasn't any fun without us,” Margot said sweetly. “How about you? Here for the _RALPHIE_ _the Robot_ re-runs? Spoiler alert – General Winters is planning something!”

Paladin Spencer rolled his eyes.

“You and the Squires might spend your days glued to that nonsense, de Havilland, but I have better things to do than waste my time on television.”

Scribe Harper looked indignant.

“Television is _not_ a waste of time, Paladin Spencer! In fact, Elder Maxson and I think this place could be helpful to the Brotherhood, and I'm very much looking forward to seeing how we can make use of it. And you shouldn't be rude to Paladin de Havilland. She might be one of the last people in the world who knows how television worked. I may have to pick her brains on a couple of things...”

“If it's brains you're in need of, ma'am, then I respectfully suggest that you pick someone else's,” Paladin Spencer replied. “De Havilland seems to be a little lacking in that department. What intellect she has, she wastes on making insubordinate remarks about our Elder and pleading for the lives of synths and other wasteland degenerates.”

“I'd tell you to go fuck yourself, Spencer, but I heard you're lacking in a certain _department_ yourself,” Margot retorted. “A coat of green paint and you could pass for a Super Mutant... you definitely have the looks and the smarts.”

“Enough!” Maxson snapped, as Paladin Spencer opened his mouth to return the insult. “Paladin Spencer, your report!”

“The prisoner remains in our custody upstairs, sir,” said Paladin Spencer, with one more sullen look at Margot. “Despite extensive interrogation, he hasn't provided us with anything useful, or at least nothing that we didn't already know. I doubt we'll get any more information out of him.”

“Then he's of no further use to us?” said Maxson.

“No, sir. His confession to his part in the torture and murder of members of Recon Squad Minerva has been recorded and our Scribe will send the transcript to Lancer-Captain Kells first thing tomorrow. We await your judgment.”

“Very well. Paladin Spencer, by my authority as Elder, and having heard your testimony, I hereby condemn the Gunner prisoner to death for his involvement in the murder of Lancer-Captain Corwin and the torture, abuse and unlawful detention of Knight-Sergeant Ellens and Knight Belasco. Have him transferred outside for execution immediately. Bury his remains with the others.”

Paladin Spencer saluted.

“Yes, sir. I'll make the arrangements immediately. _Ad victoriam_.”

“Well, I guess that's it,” Margot said weakly, as the other Paladin headed deeper into the building. “We're going to execute a man without trial. Feel-good story of the year.”

“What else would you have me do, de Havilland?” Elder Maxson responded irritably. “The Brotherhood is hardly a neutral party in this matter, and with no other person or faction prepared to speak in his defense, I don't think it's even possible to conduct the kind of trial you have in mind. And no, _don't_ tell me that you're prepared to act as legal counsel,” he said, cutting off Margot as she opened her mouth to protest. “Assisting Clarke as an act of compassion to a fellow soldier was one thing, but in this case, the conflict of interest is too blatant even for you to ignore. No attempt at impartiality can be made when the defense counsel is also a witness for the prosecution; a hearing held under those circumstances would be little more than a show trial with a predetermined outcome. You and I both know that isn't justice.”

“And this is?” Margot persisted. “Elder Maxson, you know that this isn't - ”

“I know that you don't care for some of the Brotherhood's methods, Paladin,” Maxson said, although his efforts at patience slipped through gritted teeth. “Maybe one day we'll have better options available to us, and the wasteland will have a legal system more like the one you were accustomed to. But at this point in time, this is all the justice he can expect to receive. Most wastelanders would agree that it's already more justice than he deserves.”

“Understood,” Margot said abruptly. “Scribe Harper, what do _you_ think?”

Scribe Harper looked startled.

“I – well – of course I share your concerns, Paladin de Havilland, and I agree that a proper trial is always preferable to summary execution,” she managed to blurt out. “However, I understand that such things are not always possible in the wastes, and that our Elder has final authority in these matters. In this case, I feel that it would be best to defer to his judgment.”

“Well said, sister,” Proctor Quinlan said approvingly. “Elder Maxson has heard our counsel and made the decision he feels is appropriate. The matter is decided and we proceed in accordance with our orders. No more need be said.”

Margot begged to differ, but before she could renew her objections, a different voice rang out from across the foyer:

“Elder Maxson? Scribe Harper?”

_Another new arrival_ , Margot noticed, as the newcomer hurried over. He was younger and taller than her, neatly dressed in a fresh olive-drab uniform and combat armor; his hair was a similar cut to Maxson's, black and impeccably combed. She noted the Knight-Captain insignia on his armor and the familiar blue color of the eyes, and guessed his identity immediately.

“Knight-Captain Ellens, Reclamation Team Midas,” he introduced himself, and Margot had to stop herself from nodding. “We're just about done with this area and ready to move upstairs. I trust our operations are progressing to your satisfaction so far, sir. Can I be of assistance to you or Scribe Harper? Did you have additional instructions for us, or any questions?”

“Actually, yes,” said Scribe Harper, perking up. “Could you tell me what more needs to be done to restore the equipment here? I understand that it's in generally good condition, but the lack of maintenance over the years must have taken its toll. Do you think extensive renovations are required to the building as well as the technology it houses, or is preserving the equipment here your primary focus?”

Knight-Captain Ellens brightened.

“That's an excellent question, ma'am. Well, I'd start by saying that the recording studio is...”

He launched into a detailed breakdown of the technical issues which affected the recording studio equipment. Most people's interest would have waned after a few minutes, but Scribe Harper's curiosity only seemed to intensify; she broke in frequently to ask questions, and listened keenly to the young officer's responses. However, the conversation was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of several Brotherhood soldiers in Power Armor; the box they bore between them was draped with a flag in Brotherhood orange, and carried respectfully at shoulder-height.

“Our fallen brother,” Proctor Quinlan noted, as everyone else fell silent and drew back to let them pass. “May his name and deeds endure forever in the Codex.”

“Corwin was a good man,” Knight-Captain Ellens said, pressing his fist against his heart as the funeral cortège passed them. “He deserved a better death than the one he found here. But they said he was a hero and he died trying to protect his teammates...”

He turned to Margot and Danse.

“Paladin de Havilland? Knight-Captain Danse? Is it true that you brought them home?”

“We did,” Danse answered immediately. “My only regret is that we found them by chance during our mission here. If we'd been able to locate them sooner, perhaps we could have done more to prevent - ”

Knight-Captain Ellens gave him a solemn salute in response. Then, unexpectedly, he bowed his head and dropped to one knee before them. Margot's mouth opened in astonishment.

“Knight-Captain, why are you sorry?” she asked him. “You have nothing to apologize for. None of us knew where Recon Squad Minerva were, it wasn't your fault - ”

“You misunderstand, Paladin,” said Scribe Harper quietly. “He's not asking for forgiveness.”

Margot's bewilderment only increased.

“What? Then why is he doing that? I thought that was for ceremonies and saying sorry...”

“ _Apparently_ Knight-Captain Ellens feels that he owes you both a debt of honor, and wishes to show his profound respect and appreciation for your actions,” said Elder Maxson, although he looked somewhat displeased by the act. “All right, that's enough, Knight-Captain. Please rise.”

“Really, Knight-Captain, groveling before your peers is unseemly behavior for a man of your rank!” Proctor Quinlan scolded him, helping the younger man to his feet. “You know perfectly well that we bow before _superiors_ , and only when compelled to do so by our laws and traditions!”

“They saved my sister and her squadmate from a fate worse than death and returned them safely home to us,” said Ellens, with a little frown. “You don't think it's appropriate to thank them, Proctor?”

Proctor Quinlan looked flustered.

“Well, of course your gratitude is to be expected, and I suppose Paladin de Havilland is _technically_ a superior officer, but this is hardly a suitable - ”

But Knight-Captain Ellens wasn't listening to the Proctor's objections any more; he had already turned back to Margot and Danse.

“Ma'am, I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you and Knight-Captain Danse for bringing my sister home,” he said. His voice was starting to shake. “I - thought I was never going to see her again... I know that my gratitude alone isn't enough reward for what you did, but if ever you need assistance in the field, please know that my team and I will - ”

There were scuffling sounds, followed by yelling from further down the hall. Margot and the others turned to look for the source of the noise as it approached.

“ _Let me go, you sons of bitches! I already told you everything I know! What more do you want from me?”_

Paladin Spencer emerged from the shadows, grim and silent, followed by several members of his team. They were dragging a yelling, writhing man behind them; the captive was slightly thinner and far more bedraggled than the time Margot and Danse had seen him last, but the face hidden beneath days of uneven stubble and dirt still had the ability to make both of them clench their fists at their sides.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Ryder was shouting. “Where are you fucking bucketheads taking me?”

“To your death, Gunner!” one of the soldiers snarled back. “A better end than you deserve, after what you bastards did to Minerva! If it was up to me, I'd have taken you outside and fragged you myself!”

Ryder's face paled.

“What? Death? The fuck are you talking about?” he said indignantly. “No way! You're – you're all full of shit! Brotherhood scum! _Fuck you!_ ”

“Shut up, merc!” Paladin Spencer barked. “Knight Moffat! No talking to the prisoner! Get him outside, ASAP!”

“Well, at least he didn't starve to death,” Margot murmured, as they dragged Ryder away. “Although I was hoping we'd never have to see him again. Evil son of a bitch.”

She looked over at Danse and saw something furious in his face. Not the grim determination with which he surveyed enemy bases from afar, which always meant that he was about to charge into battle yelling that this was the part of the job he loved, and that everything that wasn't wearing Power Armor was going to have its face stomped six feet into the Commonwealth's irradiated earth. This was a hotter emotion, blood-red and tremendously angry; only the supreme effort of a level-headed, disciplined soldier was keeping it in check.

There was an even more furious noise beside them. It was coming from between the teeth of Knight-Captain Ellens.

“Is that him?” he said, with a sudden, venomous intensity. “The Gunner prisoner?”

“Yes, Knight-Captain,” said Proctor Quinlan reluctantly, when nobody else put forward an answer. “He's being taken outside for execution, by order of Elder Maxson. Rest assured that he will never have the opportunity to trouble the Brotherhood again.”

Knight-Captain Ellens watched the soldiers and their captive intently as they drew closer. Danse and Margot both saw the little warning movements; the way his eyes flickered to the protesting Gunner prisoner, the expression of deadly calm on his face, and the slow, deliberate movement of his right hand to his hip.

“Don't even think about it, soldier,” Danse warned him, taking a step forward. “I know you're angry, but I strongly advise that you refrain from - ”

Knight-Captain Ellens uttered a sudden, terrible cry and lunged toward Ryder, pulling his pistol from its holster. Danse swore and immediately moved to tackle and restrain the younger officer.

“Shit!”

He managed to grab his arms, but Ellens broke free and elbowed him in the face. Margot heard a grunt of pain and saw a glimpse of blood, but Danse launched himself straight back into the fray and made another grab for Ellens' arms. Margot's eyes widened in horror as they grappled for control of the weapon.

“Ellens, stop!” she yelled, and rushed to help. “Put the gun down!”

“I'll kill him! _I'll fucking kill him!_ ” Knight-Captain Ellens screamed. Danse had him partially restrained now, but he was still pointing the gun in Ryder's direction; the barrel danced in untidy circles and figure-eights as he tried to wriggle free. “They killed Corwin and beat my sister half to death! Do you know what they did to her? Because I do! I had to hear it second-hand over comms! How they tortured her and – and used her for their own sick fucking amusement! I'll kill every one of those bastards if it's the last thing I do!”

“You will do no such thing, soldier!” bellowed Danse. Blood was running from his nose and upper lip, but he didn't seem to have noticed; he was too busy trying to keep hold of Ellens. “The Gunners in Quincy have been eradicated and the others are being actively hunted down by the Brotherhood! They won't get away with what they did to Squad Minerva!”

“No, they won't! Because they'll be fucking _dead!_ ” Ellens hollered back, still struggling against his grip. “Let me go, Danse!”

“Negative! The execution order is for Paladin Spencer's men to carry out, not you! Lower your weapon immediately!”

“No! Let me _go,_ damn it!”

Margot grabbed hold of Ellens before he could wriggle free again. At the same time, Danse wrenched the pistol from his grasp and threw it aside; it skittered across the floor and came to rest in a pile of trash and rubble. Ellens made a strangled, frustrated noise and reached again for his hip, but Margot saw the flash of metal by his side and grabbed his arm before the combat knife could rise above waist-level.

“Ellens! Stop it!” she yelled again, but he wasn't listening; he was bawling abuse at the Gunner and still attempting to hurl himself at the man, like an angry Raider dog intent on breaking free and getting close enough to kill. Even with her strength and Danse's combined, it was all they could do to hold him back.

Scribe Harper was clinging to Elder Maxson's arm, trying to hide her face in his shoulder. She looked close to tears.

“Arthur, please do something!” she begged him. “Someone's going to get hurt!”

“ _Knight-Captain Ellens! Stand down immediately!”_ Maxson roared. _“That's an order!”_

Hearing the Elder's orders issued at full volume seemed to take the young soldier aback for just a moment; the momentary pause in his struggle was all Danse needed. With a couple of swift movements and a vigorously-twisted arm, he sent the combat knife clattering to the floor and then grabbed Ellens in a bear-hug, pinning his arms at his sides.

“ _No!”_ Ellens howled, as Margot wrapped her arms around him too, tightening her hold on him. It was a sound of pure, primal fury, a wild animal suddenly restrained and helpless. _“Let go of me!”_

“Negative,” said Danse shortly. “I'm sorry, brother. This is for your own good. We can't let you do this.”

“Why are you protecting him?” Ellens cried out. “After everything he did? Why?”

“We're not protecting _him_ , Ellens,” Margot told him. “We're protecting _you_.”

“Protecting me? The hell are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke?” he snarled.

“No joke,” said Margot firmly, in his ear. “I know you're angry, and you have every right to be. But you're our brother in Steel. We can't let you do this.”

“The Paladin's right,” Danse agreed. “We're not about to let you ruin your military career by disobeying orders and disrupting the course of Brotherhood justice. The prisoner is already condemned to death, and we will see that sentence through. Your sister will get the justice she deserves, we promise - now stand down!”

Ellens was still breathing hard, and painfully fast; Margot could feel the rise and fall of his chest under her forearms, but he seemed to have given up his struggle. He stayed very still in their arms, looking around at Recon Squad Perseus, who had stopped in their tracks to stare, and Proctor Quinlan, Elder Maxson and Scribe Harper, who looked no less stunned by what they'd just witnessed.

“It's okay, soldier,” said Danse quietly.

The younger man started to shake; an odd sound erupted from him, and then he broke into violent, hysterical sobs. Margot's arms folded around him again as he buried his face in her shoulder, but this time, sympathy softened her embrace.

“I'm sorry,” Knight-Captain Ellens kept repeating, in between sobs. “I – I couldn't let him – after what they did, I couldn't – my sister and her squad, they – they were good people, they didn't - ”

“It's all right,” Margot reassured him. “Your sister's safe. She's back on the _Prydwen_ and getting stronger every day... she's a brave woman, and one hell of a fighter. But she's going to need support from her family, so you have to keep it together, okay? You can't help her if you get booted back to the Citadel for disobeying orders.”

“Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, I never - ”

“Ellens, I'm aware that your sister's kidnapping and mistreatment has caused you considerable distress, but this kind of behavior is _completely_ unacceptable,” said Proctor Quinlan severely. He adjusted his spectacles, then glared at the young officer again over the steel rims. “However, I understand that this is an uncharacteristic lapse on your part and that your previous conduct has been exemplary. Under the circumstances, we will overlook this unfortunate incident and refrain from recording it in your Scroll. No more will be said about the matter. But any further outbursts of this nature will be reported to your commanding officer and you _will_ face disciplinary action. Is that clearly understood?”

Knight-Captain Ellens looked up fearfully and nodded.

“Very well. Now for Steel's sake, compose yourself! Do you really want your squad to see you like this?”

Ellens wiped his eyes, then shook his head.

“N-no, sir.”

“Good. Pull yourself together and go back upstairs. There's still work to be done here.”

Ellens nodded, saluted, and hurried away. As the last of his footsteps faded, however, Margot and the others heard a small, nasty chuckle from across the hall.

“So this is the best the Brotherhood of Steel has to offer?” Ryder said scornfully. He shook his head. “No wonder you assholes get captured so easily with that kind of bullshit discipline. A squad captain crying like a little girl because someone screwed his sister… he wouldn't have lasted five minutes in my unit. Fucking coward.”

Margot heard a dangerous rumble beginning low in Danse's throat, but it was another, softer voice that broke the hush in the foyer.

“The only coward I see in this room is the one being escorted to his death,” said Scribe Harper quietly. “Mocking a man in his grief for his tortured sister, and insulting his honor when you clearly have none of your own... you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Despicable creature!”

Elder Maxson looked at his diminutive fiancée, who was trembling as much with anger as fear, and then at Ryder and his insolent smirk.

“I agree,” he said curtly. His eyes narrowed. “Paladin Spencer? I've changed my mind. Bring the prisoner to me.”

“With pleasure, sir,” Spencer replied.

“Hey, what are you – hey!”

Ryder's exclamation was cut short as Spencer grabbed him by the throat and dragged him back across the foyer to where Elder Maxson was standing. The Paladin made a disgusted noise and threw Ryder roughly to the floor; the man landed on his hands and knees and looked up, startled, at the Elder and his appalled consort.

“I've decided to see to the Gunner's execution personally,” Elder Maxson announced. “Let the Brotherhood's justice be seen to be done.”

“Acknowledged, sir,” said Paladin Spencer. He scowled at Ryder and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, hauling him up to his knees. “On your knees, you worm! Face your death like a man!”

Ryder's grin had disappeared completely now; he was watching Elder Maxson with the eyes of a frightened animal.

“No – you're kidding. This is just some kind of joke, right? Trying to get more intel out of me? That's right, isn't it?” he said desperately. His voice grew higher, more panicky. “You're not really going to kill me? Come on, I didn't kill that Corwin guy! That was Captain Wes, and the others! If it hadn't been for me, the girl would be dead too! Borden wanted to snap her neck and have his way with her anyway, but I told him she was more valuable to us alive! And the kid, the other one, they were going to feed him to the ants – ”

Elder Maxson merely scowled and reached into his coat. Scribe Harper went pale and shrank back, grabbing his elbow. Proctor Quinlan was quick to notice her distress, however, and stepped forward to remove her hand from Maxson's arm.

“You might want to hide your eyes, Scribe Harper,” he told her, taking her to one side. “This is likely to be unpleasant. In fact, if you'd prefer to return to _Excalibur_ and wait for the Elder there, I'd be happy to escort you. There's no need for you to witness this.”

Scribe Harper's face was almost white beneath the lights, but she shook her head.

“No. It's all right, Proctor,” she said, trying to set her mouth in a more determined line. “If the others are present, then I should be too. Arthur's right. Justice must be seen to be done.”

“Very well, Scribe Harper,” said Proctor Quinlan, although he looked unconvinced. “If you're quite sure...”

“Quite sure, Proctor,” Scribe Harper replied bravely. “An Elder's wife must never shrink from her duties. If he needs me by his side, then that's where I'll be.”

Maxson almost smiled, then seemed to remember where he was, and grew cold again. With great solemnity, he withdrew something from an inner pocket. Death in the wastes seemed to come in .44 caliber so often, Margot noted, as she saw the gleam of steel, and thought again of Kellogg's bull-barrelled Magnum. It had ended Nate's life in a flash of lead and cordite; _Nate's Revenge_ , the humble 10mm pistol found in Vault 111 and honed to deadly perfection, had returned the favor. It had remained at her side ever since; she found herself wanting to reach for it and let her fingers close around the grip for what little reassurance it would provide. Instead, she closed her hands at her sides, letting her knuckles tighten.

“No!” Ryder yelped, his voice rising to an even higher-pitched whine as Maxson pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead. “No, no, please - I can be useful to you! I can find other Gunners! I'll help you track them down, and then you can kill them, and get your justice, and then you can let me go! You're their Elder, right? You're in charge here! All you have to do is say the word and - ”

“I have nothing to say to you, Gunner,” snapped Elder Maxson. “Stop groveling and be silent!”

“At least _attempt_ to face your end with dignity,” Proctor Quinlan added primly. “You should be honored that Elder Maxson considers the matter of your execution worthy of his personal attention at all. Frankly, I'm not convinced that your miserable life is worth the cost of the bullet.”

Ryder let out an anguished scream as Maxson's finger curled around the trigger.

“ _Please!_ I – I'm not ready to die! Have mercy!”

Elder Maxson hesitated again, only slightly. He looked over at his pallid, frightened fiancée and nervous Quinlan, at silent Spencer and stony-faced Danse, and lastly at Margot, who simply stared back at him. His gaze seemed to harden again as he looked down at the prisoner cowering before him. At last, he said, in tones as sharp as the swing of a sword:

“I am Arthur Maxson of the Brotherhood of Steel, sworn to defend the lives of my men and uphold their honor, and authorized by the Codex and the Elder Council to carry out judgment on behalf of our order. By my authority as Elder, and in the name of the Brotherhood, I hereby sentence you to death.”

He pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, louder than Margot had expected, but she tried not to flinch at the sound, or look away from the spray of blood and skull fragments across the floor. Ryder's body sat upright for a moment longer, then slumped sideways and collapsed in a heap of bloody clothes. The smell of gunpowder filled the foyer, and the echoes gradually gave way to a shocked silence.

“May he find salvation in Steel,” said Elder Maxson finally. He replaced the gun in its side pocket and let his coat fall back into place, then looked down in disgust at the Gunner's blood-spattered corpse. “Bury him outside. And sanitize this area immediately.”

Paladin Spencer saluted.

“Yes, sir. Recon Squad Perseus will see to it at once!”

The order was met with a rising chorus of groans from the squad standing nearby.

“Why do we have to clean it up, sir?” one complained loudly. “Why can't the Scribes do it?”

“Because I ordered _you_ to do it, Moffat! Now get to work!”

“He got what he deserved,” said Scribe Harper shakily, as the grumbling soldiers moved to drag the corpse away. “He did... didn't he?”

“Without a shadow of a doubt,” Proctor Quinlan said, in the brisk fashion of someone trying very hard not to be sick. He edged past the spreading pool of blood on the floor, with only the smallest shudder to betray his nausea. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm sure we all have better places to be...”

Elder Maxson took Scribe Harper's arm and murmured something in her ear. She nodded and tried to look straight ahead, but when the tip of her boot touched against a stray piece of bone and she happened to look down at the bloody mess near her feet, she made a small, distressed sound and clutched Maxson's arm for support.

“Try not to look, Scribe Harper,” Proctor Quinlan told her kindly, over his shoulder. “I'm afraid you might find the spectacle rather gruesome. Inevitable, of course, given the circumstances… one of the unfortunate consequences of war. Or justice, in this case. Of course, we can all agree that it was necessary. There was really nothing else to be done.”

Scribe Harper's lips trembled, although she was already shaking so hard that the difference was barely noticeable. She nodded anyway, swallowed hard, and tightened her grip on her fiancé's arm.

Elder Maxson was about to walk past Margot and Danse, but he paused for a moment. He looked straight at them and said, very pointedly:

“Never let it be said that I'm not willing to do the dirty work myself.”

Danse flushed and looked down at his feet as Maxson swept away again; Margot bit her lip, and wondered how he'd known.

_I know he was there outside the bunker, waiting for us. Was he listening in too?_ _That look he gave us… h_ _e must have heard what you said about him._ _What else does he know_ _?_ _Do you think he heard me when I said I -_

Danse interrupted her thoughts.

“We should go. There's nothing left for us to do here.”

Margot blinked, then looked around at the world coming back to life, and the still-life horror of Ryder's death scene being dismantled. Normal service was being resumed, and Maxson and Harper were waiting by the front doors; Quinlan had already hurried outside, and she'd been so lost in thought that she hadn't even seen him go.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Good idea. Let's get out of this hellhole and go home.”

*

The _Prydwen_ loomed large against the sky, ominous in the green half-light of the storm which had followed them all the way home. Margot was slouched in her seat, staring out through one of _Excalibur_ 's windows and trying hard to stay awake; her thoughts torn between Danse, who was asleep and snoring softly, and whether Shaun was safe at home in bed, his dreams untroubled by the stormy skies.

_He's fine_ , she told herself, to chase away the worries of radiation, Deathclaws, and enemies unrepelled by turrets or guards. _Sanctuary Hills is the best-defended civilian settlement outside of Diamond City or Goodneighbor. Codsworth and Dogmeat are with him, and Preston is close by. He would never let anything happen to Shaun. No_ _body in Sanctuary_ _would. He's as safe as anyone in the wastes could possibly be..._

She relaxed a little as Lancer-Captain Cameron settled into the usual pre-docking flight pattern, and let her eyes close. Behind the darkness of her eyelids, she could still see Danse's face; his brown eyes widening with wonder as he marveled at the closeness of her, and the feel of his hands on her skin. She thought of the way he'd kissed her, as though each brush of her lips was a breath of air filling him with life, or a taste of something sweet and addictive that he couldn't help but crave. She would have given the world and her pearls for just one more of those kisses, and then maybe just one more, until they found themselves hopelessly entwined in each other's arms. But instead of ending up in a warm bed and a lover's embrace, she was sitting here in a loud, cold Vertibird, on her way back to the _Prydwen_. She had to admit that she was unhappy about this state of affairs.

_Oh well. Not much to be done about that now. We'll be there soon. Might as well stay awake._

Margot opened her eyes again, for one last look around the cabin. Proctor Quinlan seemed to have forgotten the death of the Gunner already and was talking about some operational matter, as though they'd all been on a trip to Boston Public Library instead of bearing witness to an execution. Elder Maxson appeared similarly unperturbed, responding every now and then to Quinlan's cheerful remarks, while Star Paladin Hopkins sat up rigidly in his seat, as stern and unblinking as a Sentry Bot. The only one who seemed troubled by what she'd seen was Scribe Harper; the young woman was sitting quietly a few seats away, with her head lowered.

“Scribe Harper?” Margot ventured.

Scribe Harper looked up. Her eyes were puffy and tired, and she seemed to have been making an effort not to cry.

“Yes, Paladin?”

Margot had planned to say something reassuring, but found that the words had gone; she struggled to come up with something else to say. Then she noticed the unusual pattern on the brass buttons of the girl's wool overcoat. She'd expected to see the Brotherhood's insignia, but was surprised to find the Great Seal of the United States shining back at her beneath years of tarnish. It certainly wasn't standard-issue, even for Scribes from distant chapters.

“I, uh… I like your coat,” she managed.

Harper smiled unexpectedly.

“Thanks. It was my father's. He gave it to me back at Lost Hills… I was waiting above-ground for the Vertibird to take me to the Citadel, and he came up to say goodbye. I'd forgotten how cold it was in the desert at night, and he saw me shivering, so he let me wear his coat while we waited. When it was time to leave, I tried to give it back to him, but he told me to keep it for the journey, so I'd be warm no matter where I went. I guess he wanted to keep on looking after me, even from far away.”

Margot imagined the girl's father waving goodbye from a landing pad in the middle of the California desert, knowing full well that he would never see his daughter again. She thought of her own father, at Peggy's wedding, and the way he'd hugged her goodbye at the end of the day, telling her that he loved her and that he'd see her soon. It had been the last time she'd seen him alive. She blinked back the tears as her vision started to blur, and tried to smile instead.

“Didn't know he served before the Great War. If memory serves me correctly, that's a colonel's silver eagle on the epaulets.”

Scribe Harper looked delighted.

“You're right! Almost nobody knows that! But yes, the coat's... well, I guess it's kind of a family heirloom. It was handed down from our ancestor, Lieutenant Simon Harper of the United States Army. He was at the Mariposa base with Captain Roger Maxson, who became our first Elder. The story goes that when Colonel Spindel suffered a breakdown and took his own life, Maxson assumed command in his place. Lieutenant Harper took the Colonel's coat and offered it to Maxson, but Maxson refused and told him to keep it instead. So he did, and passed it down through the generations, father to son. My father was fortunate enough to become its custodian. Truth be told, I feel a little guilty about keeping it.”

“Don't,” Margot told her. “He obviously wanted you to have it, or he wouldn't have offered it to you. You're keeping an old family tradition alive by wearing it – and at the side of a Maxson, too. I'm sure your father would be proud to see you right now.”

“Thank you for saying so,” said Harper shyly. “I hope you're right… I'm not brave like the Knights, or the Paladins. I've never been in combat before. I'd never even seen someone die until – well, just now.”

“Unfortunate fact of life out here,” Margot replied. “You get used to it after a while.”

Scribe Harper frowned.

“That's what bothers me. I feel like death _shouldn't_ be normal – not like that, anyway. Were people used to it, before the Great War? Did that sort of thing happen a lot?”

“Not exactly,” said Margot carefully. “I mean, there were wars before the Great War, and I know my husband saw some terrible things when he was serving in Anchorage. Civilians didn't see much violence, as a rule. But crime started going up as the war dragged on, and then there were the riots - people protesting food shortages, the government, nukes, the war. They used to send in riot police to stop the demonstrations, or the military if things got really out of control. You didn't see that stuff on the news, of course, but we all knew it was going on. A lot of people just ignored it… I guess it was easier for them to pretend nothing was wrong. The rest were afraid that the government would come knocking on their doors if they complained too loud, so they stayed quiet too. Doesn't make it right, and I stood up in court and said so plenty of times, but - ”

“Not everybody has the courage to stand up and fight,” said Scribe Harper meekly. “Look at the people of the wastes… all those farmers and traders, and their families. They want to be strong and stand up for themselves, but they're worried about what it could cost them if they do. Or what would happen if they fought and lost.”

“That's exactly why we're here, Scribe Harper,” Elder Maxson interrupted, breaking off from his conversation with Proctor Quinlan. “The Brotherhood's job is to eliminate hostile factions, remove dangerous technology from circulation, and make what's left of the world safe for civilians again, so that humanity can rebuild. Innocent people should not have to live in fear of Raiders and mercenary scum like the Gunners.”

“Agreed,” said Margot. “I've seen too many frightened people out there. No more. The Brotherhood and the Minutemen are going to put a stop to this AntAgonizer nonsense, and anyone else who tries to - ”

A loud bump and the high-pitched screams of the Vertibird's rotors cut off her sentence midway, and jolted Danse awake so sharply that he almost fell out of his seat.

“We're home, sir,” the pilot announced. “Watch your head on the way out. Looks like the wind and rain's picked up too. Be careful out on the flight deck.”

“Acknowledged. Thank you, Lancer-Captain.”

They stepped out onto the flight deck and were almost bowled over by a gust of wind and rain. Two Initiates immediately ran forward, carrying umbrellas; they were opened up and presented with some ceremony to Elder Maxson and Scribe Harper, only to be taken up by Star Paladin Hopkins and Proctor Quinlan and held over their charges' heads.

“Jeez, the Maxsons are too important to hold their own umbrellas now?” muttered Margot, as they walked across the rain-washed flight deck behind the Elder and his future bride. “I thought we did away with royalty back in 1776. Must've missed the memo about the Great Restoration.”

Danse shot her a look, but said nothing.

“Elder on deck!”

“Welcome back, sir.”

“ _Ad victoriam!”_

Doors were opened before them, salutes made, and then the _Prydwen_ welcomed them back inside. Elder Maxson bade the others goodnight, but Margot was so tired that she didn't really hear what he had to say; she was already thinking about the privacy of her quarters, and the allure of clean sheets and a warm bed. She stumbled into the room as soon as she could get away, then shut the door gratefully on the outside world.

“Thank fuck for that,” she announced. “Finally, I can get some sleep.”

The door opened and shut behind her; Danse looked aggrieved.

“I know you're eager to get some rest, Margot, but there was no need to slam the door in my face. You know that I'm also quartered in this room. Although I still have doubts as to how appropriate this arrangement is. People will - ”

“People,” said Margot, very irritably, “can fuck off. I'm going to bed. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get changed...”

Danse sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, careful to face away from her as she stripped away the layers of body armor and uniform and changed into an undershirt and shorts.

“I'm sorry this date didn't turn out as expected,” he said out loud. “This wasn't how I anticipated things might go. I was hoping – well, in truth, I don't know what I was hoping for. But it certainly wasn't this.”

Margot sat down suddenly on the opposite edge of the mattress, and buried her head in her hands.

“You think I'm an idiot, don't you?”

Startled, Danse turned around to look at her.

“Why would I think that?”

“Trying to persuade Elder Maxson to hold off on executing that shithead Ryder, even though I know he deserved that bullet to the face just as much as every Raider I've ever met,” said Margot, her voice muffled through her fingers. “And after I almost beat the shit out of the guy myself, before you snapped me out of it… you must think I'm a hypocrite, standing there and talking about justice.”

“On the contrary,” said Danse. “Although I think it's wasted on people like the Gunners, I admire you a great deal for attempting to uphold the basic principles of justice, even after the near-complete breakdown of law and order in the wasteland. Elder Maxson may not have agreed with your strategy regarding the treatment of enemy prisoners, but your concerns did not go unheard. No doubt you gave him a great deal to think about before he reached his final decision.”

“Thanks, although I'm pretty sure you're just saying that to make me feel better,” Margot replied, looking up from her hands. “I think we both know that I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. Remember the time I let that Raider get away because he ran off yelling for mercy, and not ten minutes later, he came back trying to kill me all over again? And you had to take him out because I panicked and didn't know what to do? I thought you were going to chew me out over that for _hours_.”

“Clemency is an admirable quality, but it should be dispensed to the deserving,” Danse reminded her. “Remember Clarke's mistake. Allowing an enemy to live could cost you your own life later. Don't mistake naivety for compassion and allow yourself to become an easy target.”

Margot sighed.

“I know that. I'm not about to let an enemy pull the wool over my eyes if I can help it. But - I don't know, Danse. Sometimes I'm worried that I'm losing myself out here.”

Danse frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Margot folded her hands in her lap, and let out another, smaller sigh.

“Scribe Harper and I were talking back there, and it got me to thinking… I think I'm getting too used to violence. Trying to convince myself that wasteland justice is okay, because that's just how things are nowadays. I feel like I'm in danger of forgetting about all the rights I used to fight for, and how things used to be before all of this. I mean, killing enemies out in the field is one thing, but killing unarmed prisoners while they're screaming for mercy? And after what happened the last time… I'm starting to worry that one day I'll stop caring, and then I'll end up like the man who killed my husband. Just another wasteland mercenary who sells their standards to the highest bidder and turns a blind eye to people's suffering.”

Danse put his hand on her shoulder.

“I think that possibility is highly unlikely, Margot.”

“But I - ”

“The world you were brought up in was very different to the one you inhabit now,” said Danse solemnly. “You were accustomed to having systems in place to dispense justice equally and fairly to all, and now that they're gone – it must be difficult to balance Pre-War ideals with the instincts needed to survive post-apocalyptic environments. I'm sure your moral principles have been put to the test a great many times since you emerged from Vault 111.”

Margot made a derisive noise.

“That's putting it lightly.”

“But as I'm sure I've told you before, you are _not_ Kellogg,” Danse continued. “You may have forgotten your training on occasions in the past, but you've come a long way since the last time we found ourselves in that location. You've had time to consider past mistakes and the principles you want to adhere to, and I think you demonstrated that today. I'm proud of you.”

“Hope so,” said Margot, more quietly. “I really screwed up the last time I was there, Danse. I keep thinking about it, over and over. Beating the hell out of an enemy who can no longer fight back is wrong... I should never have let myself lose control like that, no matter how angry I was.”

“And because you learned from that experience, you stopped our brother from making the same mistake,” said Danse. “You understood why intervention was needed, and taught him about the need for self-control.”

An old memory, blurred by anger and revenge, swam back into focus. Fort Hagen. She'd screamed and railed against Nick for holding her back and preventing her from turning what was left of Kellogg into paste, and for weeks she'd resented the hell out of him for trying to stop her… but she kept thinking about that calm yellow gaze, and the metal frame of his right hand on her shoulder. Patience, and restraint, two qualities she so frequently seemed to lack.

“He was angry,” said Margot, after a short pause. “I don't blame him for that. I would be too, in his place. But a friend of mine once held me back from doing something that he knew I'd regret. Part of me hated him for it for a while, but the truth is that he did me a big favor. He stopped me from going down a very dark path; the worst part is, I never really thanked him for it. But when Ellens lost it back there, I suddenly realized why Nick did what he did. You can't fight monsters if you become one yourself... I couldn't stand by and let that happen to one of our guys.”

“I'm sure Ellens will be grateful for that,” Danse replied. “Perhaps not today, or tomorrow, but in time, he'll come to understand that you did him a great service by reminding him who he is, and what we stand for. Well done, soldier. I couldn't be more proud of you than I am right now.”

Margot smiled a little.

“Thanks, Danse. That's good to hear.”

“As long as you do your best to uphold the values of the Brotherhood, and act with honor, courage and integrity, I will always be proud of you,” he assured her. He gave her shoulder a small squeeze, then lay down and let his head come to rest on the pillow. “Now don't let the matter trouble you any further. Get some sleep. We'll head back to Sanctuary in the morning.”

Margot's smile became a grin as she watched him pull the blanket up past his shoulders.

“Uh, Danse?”

“Yes?”

“You know that's technically my bed, right?”

Danse's eyes opened and he sat upright, looking shocked.

“You're right, I – sorry, I shouldn't – I apologize, Paladin, I was tired and forgot myself. These are your quarters and of course you're entitled to the bed. Excuse me - ”

He was already halfway out of bed when Margot grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back.

“Hey, I never gave you permission to leave!” she said, laughing. “You stay right where you are.”

“What? But I - ”

“It's okay, Danse, I was only kidding! If you want to make yourself comfortable, you go right ahead. I don't mind having you sleeping next to me. Hell, it's not like it's the first time this has happened.”

“It's still inappropriate. We can't keep doing this,” Danse objected feebly, but lay down again anyway.

“Sure we can,” Margot said, smiling and curling up next to him.

“Perhaps so, but eventually someone will find out. What do you propose to do then?”

Margot thought for a moment, then got up and went across the room to the cot where Danse usually slept. Metal squeaked against metal as she pushed the cot across the room, until at last it came to a halt right next to the bed. Danse watched, perplexed, as she pushed the two bedframes closer together.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Well, you always used to tell me to stay close, right?” she responded. “And I don't recall any regulations about minimum distance between bunks. This way, we can stay in separate beds and still be close together. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

“Well, that is… I suppose that's an acceptable sleeping arrangement.”

“Glad we're agreed.”

Margot unrolled the blanket and climbed into the cot, settling down until she was facing Danse. He was still lying on his side, looking at her as though he didn't know how to respond. She smiled, reached over to kiss the back of his outstretched hand, and pulled her blanket over her.

“Goodnight, darling. Sweet dreams.”

“I, uh,” Danse stumbled, then gave up. “Goodnight, Margot.”

He looked over at her after a moment or two. She was already half-asleep, and still holding his hand; he watched her for as long as he could, until his eyelids grew heavy and he could keep them open no longer. His last thought before sleep was that she was still holding onto whatever she could of her old life, gratefully grasping at whatever was familiar - a life of law, a military man by her side, little Shaun, and Codsworth, and small bits and pieces of the world she used to know.

What was he holding onto? Guilt? Regrets? The semblance of routine and a normal life?

_Her hand_ , he told himself, and held onto the thought as his eyes closed again. _Her hand_.


End file.
